


a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort

by ravynwytch



Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Car Sex, Drugs, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Gang Rape, Gay Sex, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Man, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Primo is still a violent bastard, Primo's Backstory, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Drugs, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming, dark themes, he's just a more sympathetic violent bastard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravynwytch/pseuds/ravynwytch
Summary: They had opened their home to Primo as a boy. They were there for him whenever he needed a place to escape.And when he's an adult and striking out on his own, has taken up a place in the capital, well: Primo doesn't happen to Rome. Rome happens to him. And Regina and Leonardo are the only two who can help him pick up the pieces.[Rewrite and expansion of my fic: il passato infesta ma continuiamo ad andare avanti]
Relationships: Leonardo/Primo Nizzuto, Leonardo/Regina (Trust), Primo Nizzuto/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 53





	1. beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated with the one-shot this fic is an expansion of: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS in both the bold and the tags.
> 
> This fic goes more in depth with the storyline established in the previous fic in general (and fixes some timeline mishaps). There's more of Primo's past leading up to the assault (including rewrites of the scenes presented in said one-shot) and afterwards as well as some scenes from the show that will be put into the context of this fic. The assault itself will be rewritten as well but will not be written anymore explicitly than I originally wrote it.
> 
> When the chapter comes where the attack goes down, I will put a warning in the beginning of the notes.

He always goes to their home after a beating. Has since he was eight years old and Regina found him curled up in an alley attempting to hide from his father: Pietro Nizzuto, brother of Don Salvatore. Both were cruel men, both hit their children but while Pietro was not allowed to lay a hand on Primo’s cousin, Stefano, Salvatore could smack Primo around as much as he liked.

At home he was hit and his mother didn’t care, far too busy chasing her next high. At his cousin’s he was hit and not a single one of Salvatore’s associates batted an eye. No, that was not entirely true, one man seemed to be bothered by it. He would close his eyes whenever Salvatore moved in to strike Primo, his face a subtle mask of sorrow. But still he said nothing and Primo couldn’t blame him because his uncle was terrifying and he was certain the man didn’t want to end up dead because he dared to cross Salvatore.

There was no escape until Regina.

He had seen her around several times before. She was young and beautiful and had married at eighteen yet still she had no children two years in. There were rumors—because in a small village there always are—that she might be unable to bear any herself. If she knew of such talk, she didn’t give it away. Always walking with her head held high, not an ounce of shame radiating off of her. Primo honestly admired that.

She had stooped down at the mouth of the alley, having noticed him when others had not. Or they did and they pretended not to see. The latter was more likely.

“You’re Primo, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Did your father do this to you?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re hiding from him?” A nod from the boy. Regina had sighed and stood, her face so full of determination like she had just come to a decision. And she had, he came to learn moments later. And Primo, at such a young age, never having someone show they cared before, could never have guessed she had made one that would literally save his life time and again. “Come, follow me.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to my house and I’m going to get you cleaned up. Then, you will have dinner with my husband and I.”

“But my father—”

“Don’t worry about your father, if he has a problem he can come talk to me.”

The fact Regina’s face could so easily fall into a tranquil fury was incredibly arresting. It made Primo a little scared of her but at the same time it made him trust her implicitly.

So he had taken her hand and she had brought him home and done the things she said she would. And when her husband had finally arrived, Primo was surprised to see it was the man. The one person who actually seemed bothered whenever Salvatore hit him.

“Leonardo, welcome home,” Regina had greeted, kissing her husband.

Leonardo had kissed her back but his gaze fell on the boy sitting at their table. “Is that Pietro’s son?” he asked quietly, dumbfounded as to why the Nizzuto boy would be in their house sitting at their table.

“Yes, I found the poor thing cowering on the street.”

Primo could hear them but only half-listened, staring off into space, his legs swaying, feet not touching the ground. He was shorter than all the other boys his age and even some of the girls and that led to a heaping amount of teasing. Not only from the other children but from his father and uncle as well.

He had only looked up when Leonardo sat at the table across from him, the man offering him a gentle smile. Primo had smiled back.

“Do you know how to play dominoes, Primo?”

“Oh, no, Leonardo, please do not get another into that game.”

“No, I wanna learn,” Primo had said maybe too eagerly, too quickly, because it made Leonardo chuckle and Regina look at him fondly. But there was also something a bit sad in their expressions and he wasn’t sure why.

Whilst Regina finished preparing dinner, Leonardo introduced him to dominoes. He wasn’t very good at it at first but Primo has never been stupid. By the end of the night he understood the game and though he couldn’t beat Leonardo that night, he knew there would be plenty more opportunities to do so.

And he was right, of course. Anytime he took a beating or his parents fought (because he knew a beating would soon follow), he would escape to Leonardo and Regina’s house and tonight was no different.

Twelve years old and he was already an expert at sneaking out through his bedroom window. He’d nearly broken his leg the first time he attempted it. Primo’s foot had slipped whilst he was trying to navigate down the trellis but now he descended it with all the gracefulness of a jungle cat.

Even from the street he could hear his parents screaming at each other and he knew the second it ended his father would barge into his room looking for him. Pietro never hit his wife, no, he only ever took out all his anger and frustration on their son.

Primo has never been sure if he should give his father a modicum of credit for not also being a wife beater; or angry at his mother for not bothering to protect him from her vicious husband. For engaging in fights with him knowing full well that Primo would be bearing the brunt of his father’s ill temper.

And she just couldn’t help herself tonight. As if having a glass smashed into his face earlier hadn’t been enough for one day.

He had managed to clean the wound in the bathroom, even got all the tiny shards out. But it would leave a scar on the bridge of his nose, he knew that. Primo just hoped it would suit his face when he was older.

He doesn’t knock on the door and instead goes around the house to jimmy one of the living room windows open and slip inside. Primo knows the house like the back of his hand at this point and so, even in the darkness, he can navigate around it with such ease it’s like it’s day outside. He knows exactly where the creaky floorboards are, where the furniture lays, and he doesn’t disturb any of it.

That doesn’t mean that something doesn’t give away the fact he’s there. Maybe one of his steps were too heavy or the couple has a sixth sense about this sort of thing because suddenly Leonardo is barging into the room, flicking the light on, carrying a gun.

He doesn’t brandish it at Primo, his brain working quick enough to recognize it’s only the boy and not somebody trying to rob them.

“Primo,” Leonardo sighs, clearly relieved. He rubs his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, rests the gun against the wall. “How did you get in?” The boy hooks a thumb at the window he came in through.

“Primo?” It’s Regina and she’s coming into the room, pulling on a robe. She pauses when she sees his face. “What did that?”

“A glass,” he answers honestly. He hears her mutter something under her breath and he’s pretty sure she’s cursing but it’s far too low to make out. “They’re fighting again. Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” Leonardo says. “The guest room is already set up.”

It always is because Primo spends more time sleeping in their home than he does in his own.

Regina fusses over his wound for a few minutes, cleaning it again for him, before she allows him to go rest. She and Leonardo don’t sleep well that night, both knowing full well that they can expect Pietro to come along in the morning.

* * *

It’s nearly ten the next day, the sun is high in the sky, and Leonardo is doing yard work outside. He had shed his shirt half an hour ago, it's far too hot to continue to wear it. Primo is sitting on the hood of Leonardo and Regina’s car, a book in his lap—because the couple’s home is the only place he can read in peace without the book being knocked from his hands or wrenched from them and used to deal a blow to his face.

The book is interesting, a mystery novel that Regina said she loved, but it can’t keep his attention. Instead, his gaze keeps flicking upwards, towards Leonardo. He’d noticed when he was ten that he really didn’t care for girls but rather that his attention was on boys. At first he had thought it was a phase but since he’d begun to go through puberty, he had to be honest with himself and accept that it wasn’t.

But instead of paying mind to the ones his own age, he looked at Leonardo. Because he likes the man. _A lot_. And he doesn’t feel guilty about it. Primo has heard the girls swoon over older men within the village, so why couldn’t he find one attractive too (other than the fact that if his family ever found out they’d likely kill him)? It wasn’t like he was going to try anything. He knew he was far too young for that, even if it was with a boy his own age, and Regina would kill Leonardo if she found that he looked at children in that sort of way.

Leonardo is good though. He’s safe and not some creep. And this, it’s just a crush. Maybe he’ll get over it in a few years and he can laugh at how his younger self yearned for a man who was over a decade older than him.

He tears his eyes away from the married man and looks to the left, down the length of their driveway. Primo only does so to look anywhere else but he sees a figure approaching. It’s familiar and Primo wastes no time in bolting off the hood of the car and racing inside.

The door smacking against the wall catches Regina’s attention. “Primo, what the hell? Do you want to damage the wall?”

But he doesn’t answer, just retreats to the back of the house. She looks outside the kitchen window, wondering what caused the boy to dash inside like the devil was on his heels, to see Pietro approaching. Regina squares her shoulders and marches outside, already starting before Leonardo can.

“Get the hell off of my property, Nizzuto!”

“Where’s the boy?” It’s only ever boy. Never son.

“Why? So you can beat him some more?”

“What I do with my family is my own business.” Pietro glares at Leonardo. “Maybe you should put your wife in her place.”

“Regina knows her place.”

She looks at her husband and they share a half-smile before turning their attention back to Pietro.

“Primo is fine where he is,” Leonardo insists.

“Get his ass out here or I’ll go in there and drag him out.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Regina challenges.

“ _Regina_ ,” Leonardo warns. He knows Pietro. He knows, if provoked, the man will do it and he will hurt his wife in the process if she gets in the way.

Pietro only lets out a bitter little laugh. “He has to come home eventually.”

“And he will. Eventually,” Leonardo says. Pietro fixes him with a cold stare. Then his mouth is breaking into a wicked grin that neither of the couple likes.

Pietro gets into Leonardo’s face. “Are you touching him, Leo?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m not the one who touches children.”

“Neither am I. I haven’t laid a hand on your son, or anyone else’s child, and I never will.”

“Maybe. But if you continue to interfere with my fucking family, Salvatore might hear different.”

“Don’t threaten me with your brother.”

“Don’t push me.”

“Leave, Pietro.”

Satisfied in the belief that his threat will keep Leonardo from continuing to overstep, the man finally turns on his heel and makes his way back down the drive. He glances back only once to search the windows that are visible from the front of the house, as if he might catch Primo looking out of one.

Leonardo and Regina both release a heavy sigh and head inside.

“Primo!” Regina calls. “Come here!”

There’s some shuffling in the back and then the door is opening and Primo comes into the room. “I should go home, shouldn’t I?”

“Not today,” Leonardo says.

“I’m sure the longer I stay away, the longer he’ll beat me when I get back.”

“Caro, you _can_ stay if you want,” Regina tells him. Every part of Primo wants to take her up on the offer but he can’t. If he does, his father will come back and he _will_ hurt them. He won’t let that happen.

* * *

He returns home that night after having dinner with the couple again, knowing he won’t get fed at home. His father is gone and Primo suspects it’s because Salvatore had a last minute job for him. At least it’ll keep him safe for one more day.

His mother is in the bathroom, head over the toilet, and he knows immediately that she’s taken too much. Primo looks at the kitchen table and sees a small pile of white powder upon the surface. He knows what she did inhale isn’t enough to potentially kill her but it is enough to cause her to be sick.

With a sigh, he pushes her hair away from her face. “Mama, hey, let’s get you into bed.” Because even if he hates her, he can’t just leave her here.

“Oh, Primo,” she says, only acknowledging his presence now. She looks up at him with bleary eyes and a tired smile. “When did you get home?”

“Just now. Come on, let’s get you up.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

She sighs because she’s far too sick and far too tired to argue. “Okay, help me up.”

Primo ends up half dragging her to her room and practically has to throw her onto the mattress. Taking up the corner of the duvet, he brings it up to around her waist. He sits on the edge of the bed and rests his head on her abdomen. “Mama?”

“Sì?”

“What’s your name?”

“Why are you asking me that?” she laughs.

“Answer it. Per favore?” his voice is barely louder than a whisper.

“Rosetta,” she answers. At least she’s not so fucked up that she’s forgotten her own name. The amount of times that has happened and Primo has had to remind her is staggering.

“Okay.” Primo moves to stand up but she grabs his hand and pulls him down, wrapping him up in her arms. Her embrace isn’t comforting. To him, it is suffocating.

“You’re such a good boy, my Primo,” she slurs as she pets his hair.

“Go to sleep, Mama.” Because he can’t say thank you. Because the only time he ever hears her speak to him like a mother should is when she’s high as hell. And he doesn’t know if it’s his mother’s true feelings coming out or the drugs talking, the euphoria it gives her making pretty words tumble from her lips, and it’s like a knife in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed chapter.1. 
> 
> I will try to get the next one out as soon as possible. I am also working on another multi-chapter fic right now on here so I will most likely be alternating with publishing chapters between the two.
> 
> I know Salvatore says he doesn't have children but this story isn't entirely canon compliant so I'm headcanon'ing that Fifty is his kid. (I do plan to make the 'as someone with no sons' line in the show make sense though).
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I have a blog where I accept prompts: [here](http://ravynwytch.tumblr.com)


	2. two funerals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the foreshadowing in this chapter.
> 
> Due to being unable to find a converter from USD to lira, I am using USD numbers but in reality they would be saying the amount for lira that is equivalent to the numbers mentioned in this chapter.
> 
> Also, this is a long one. Buckle up.
> 
> Warning for this chapter: Child abuse (physical, verbal, and emotional)

Primo wakes the next morning still wrapped up in his mother’s arms. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in her bed, doesn’t even remember doing so but he supposes it had hit him suddenly as he was waiting for her to fall asleep. Waiting for her breath to even out and feel her arms slacken.

She’s so still and so quiet that Primo has to check to make sure she’s still breathing. The puff of air that warms his hand when he holds it up to her face is answer enough. Carefully he extracts himself from her hold and silently heads towards the door.

Primo can’t hear any banging around in the kitchen. His father must not be up yet. Actually, Primo doesn’t think he came home at all last night. He was so angry that if he had, he most likely would have dragged Primo out of his mother’s bed to hit him for what he had pulled. Salvatore’s job must have taken him further from the village than normal and that gives him, hopefully, a few extra hours of reprieve.

He takes a steadying breath and steps out of his mother’s room to take the stairs up to his own so he can change his clothes.

He needs new ones, he’s beginning to get too tall to fit into what he currently owns but he can’t mention it. His father will only say that there are more important things to spend money on. He might even get annoyed that Primo is growing so fast as if it’s something the boy can control. So Primo keeps his mouth shut and simply makes due. Someone will eventually take pity and give him hand-me-downs. Of that he’s certain.

There’s no food in the kitchen outside a loaf of molding bread, a jar of strawberry jam that might as well be empty for all that’s left in it, and a lasagna given to them by a neighbor that is starting to turn. Primo throws it all away.

His mother will need to eat something when she finally wakes. He’s seen what an empty stomach can do to her after a bad night and he’d rather not have to pick her up off the floor again so soon.

There’s a tin of money above the fridge but he’s not allowed to take anything from it without his father’s consent. The man never gives him permission.

Primo worries his bottom lip and glances back at the table where the small pile of cocaine sits. His mother has more, he knows that. Surely she won’t miss a little bit of it.

A knock at the door comes before he can make up his mind about what to do. He cracks it open just enough for the person on the other side to see him but not so much that the drugs will be in the visitor’s field of vision. He’s not surprised to see that it’s his teacher.

“Primo, I was wondering if you would be coming to school today.”

“I can’t. Mama is sick.”

“You’ve missed an awful lot of school already.” It’s always the same thing. Every year the teachers come to tell him how much he’s missed and he’s so tired of hearing it already.

“I know but I can’t leave her. She’s _really_ sick.”

“She often is,” his teachers says. She sounds bitter.

“Can you drop off my schoolwork later? I promise I’ll do it.”

“And if your mother is still sick tomorrow? How will you turn in your assignments?”

“I’ll give them to Giorgio in the morning.” Giorgio lives two houses down and has to pass Primo’s house to get to the school. The other boy is not unused to having to take Primo’s homework with him.

The teacher rubs at her forehead and he can tell by her expression that he’s won. He knows full well that it’s only because his work always gets done and it’s always correct. If that wasn’t the case, the woman wouldn’t so easily back down.

“Alright. But try to make it in at least once this week?”

“Okay.” That’s all he can say. He can’t promise anything and trying depends entirely on his circumstances come each morning.

“I’ll be by this afternoon with your work.”

Primo closes the door without so much as a goodbye and turns back to the table. He stares at the cocaine for a few long beats before raiding the cupboards for a bag he can put it into.

Fuck it, he’s doing this.

* * *

He acts fast, racing down the streets of his village until he comes upon a solitary house on the edge of it where a boy of nineteen with messy blond hair is sitting on the front steps, smoking.

“Damn, Primo, where’s the fire?”

“How much is a gram of cocaine?”

The other boy nearly chokes on the smoke he’s inhaling. In between coughs, he says, “The fuck you need to know that for?”

“Just answer the question, Ciro.”

“You looking to score?”

“No.”

“Your mom then?” Ciro raises an eyebrow in question.

“No! Can you just tell me!?”

“For fuck’s sake, Primo, I mean, it depends on the purity and what it’s cut with.”

Primo throws his head back and lets out a guttural sound in frustration. He has no idea what’s in the shit his mother is snorting.

“Look, some people are just looking for a quick fix and so won’t give a damn what’s in it. They’ll pay whatever you ask. Within reason, of course. Don’t go demanding a thousand for a gram, you’ll just get your teeth knocked out.”

“What if I don’t know how much I have?”

Ciro sits bolt upright at that. “Holy fuck, do you have coke on you right now?”

“Maybe.”

“Primo, did you steal your mother’s shit?”

“She has more and we need the money,” Primo says, going on the defensive.

“Dio mio,” Ciro sighs. “Give it here.” Primo doesn’t move. “You just said you have no idea how much you’re carrying. So hand it to me and I can tell you.”

Primo has no choice, really. He can’t just go and demand a random price. He doesn’t need to get his wrist broken...again. He’s already learned that life is actual hell if you aren’t able to use your dominant hand for months on end.

He winces at the memory and the fact that Regina had to be talked down by Leonardo from going and burying Primo’s father alive. All that because Primo accidentally knocked Pietro’s coffee over that morning.

He hands the bag over and Ciro takes all of a second to look at it before he’s holding it out for him to take again. “That’s about five grams. I’d say you can get maybe four hundred for it.”

“Seriously?” His mother paid hundreds for this shit?

“Oh yeah. Welcome to drugs, kid.”

“Well...thanks.”

“Yep,” Ciro says. “Also, Primo, be careful selling that. You’re a scrawny little shit who looks like they’ll be knocked over by a stiff breeze. Buyers will try to push you around, someone might even try to hit you.”

Primo hesitates and Ciro notices.

“Do you want me to sell it for you? It’ll take me ten minutes, give or take a couple. I know some people who are always looking to buy.”

“You’d do that?”

“I’ve sold other people’s product before, this will be nothing at all.”

Primo fixes him with a suspicious look. “And you’ll bring the money back?”

“Wipe that look off your stupid face. I have a sparkling reputation for a reason.”

He can’t argue with that. It’s why he sought Ciro out in the first place. The other boy knew well what he was talking about and people trusted him.

Primo hands over the bag again and Ciro is gone without another word, leaving the boy there to pace back and forth, all nervous energy that makes it feel like his bones are going to burst out of his skin. He’s never held more than a single lira in his hands before. He can’t imagine what it’ll be like to hold as much as Ciro said the drugs were worth.

He doesn’t have to wonder for all that long. Ciro returns earlier than Primo thought he would—a total of five minutes at the most—and he has a wad of lira notes in his hands.

“Here you go, kiddo,” he says, pressing the notes into Primo’s palm. “I managed to get a little over four hundred.”

“There’s only three-fifty here.”

“Seller gets a cut.”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“You’re a Nizzuto, you should have known this already.”

Primo is less than pleased, to say the least, at getting swindled but this is still better than nothing. He leaves Ciro with a muttered ‘thanks’ and heads to the market.

He’s tempted to buy whatever he can and use up every last lira in his hands but he knows that a stocked fridge and more items than coffee and sugar in the cupboard will raise questions and he doesn’t want to explain to his father that he, even indirectly, sold cocaine. The money would just be taken from him anyway and put into that stupid tin atop the fridge. Never to be seen by him again.

So he buys nothing more than a new loaf of bread and another jar of strawberry jam because his father won’t notice. He doesn’t pay that close attention, won’t take note that the jar went from essentially empty to full. It’s safe and smart.

When he arrives back home, he puts the meager food items away and hides the rest of the money in his pillowcase. He thinks he’ll give it to Leonardo and Regina the next time he sees them—whenever that is. As much as he’d like to keep it, Primo knows it’s too risky to do so.

* * *

Primo has just put his mother to bed again—after managing to get her to put something in her stomach—and taken a seat at the table when his father comes in, dumping Primo’s schoolwork in front of him. The loud thump makes him flinch.

“Ran into your teacher on my way home. You missed school again?” his father asks, taking a seat across from him and lighting a cigarette.

He knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help himself. “Why do you care? I thought you said school was a waste of time.”

His father strikes like a viper. The smack rattles his teeth. “And I thought I had taught you not to talk back.”

Primo stares at the tabletop. He can feel tears prickling at his eyes. Why did he have to open his mouth? Why did he never learn?

“Going to cry?” his face asks coldly, mockingly.

“No.” It comes out strangled and he bites the inside of his cheek, feeling stupid, feeling _weak_.

“Pathetic,” Pietro mumbles. “Where’s your mother?”

“Sleeping. She’s sick,” Primo explains.

“Fucking Christ. That woman is useless.” Primo opens his mouth to say something but clamps it shut. “What?” Silence. “Go on, say it. Say it or I’ll get angry.”

“Why did you marry her if you can’t stand her?” he asks, meeting his father’s gaze.

“You really want to know?” His father asks, leaning forward, his arms coming to rest on the table. There’s something cruel in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Because of _you_.”

Primo can only stare, his face completely devoid of emotion though his eyes betray how much the statement startles him. His mother had told him he’d been born two years after she and his father had married. But this implies he was a mistake, that he is somebody who never should have happened.

“I tried to convince her to get an abortion but she refused. So what else could I do? I had no other choice but to marry her.” Pietro sits back. “I thought of smothering you in your sleep a few times after you were born. I didn’t but only because Salvatore was always ‘we need heirs, Pietro, that’s how the business continues.’ So I let you live even when you wouldn’t stop fucking crying your little lungs out. Eventually, we took you to a doctor because sure, babies cry, but you just wouldn’t shut the fuck up for hours on end. They ended up saying it was colic and that there’s nothing to be done about it. That it’ll just pass on its own eventually.

You caused us hell for six goddamn months. Or, well, you caused your mother hell. I wasn’t about to deal with that shit. So I spent most of the time at your uncle’s. But every fucking time I did come home, you were crying. Was driving your mother insane but, as the doctor said, there was nothing that could be done. I said to her that she had no one to blame but herself, that she had gotten herself into this situation and now she had to deal with it. Wouldn’t have happened if she had just gotten rid of you like I told her to.”

Primo wants to tell him to shut up but the words catch in his throat.

“You know, she turned to drugs because of you. Couldn’t deal with all the stress. The first time she used, you were four months. She was so out of it that she nearly drowned you in the bathtub. Probably would have if her friend hadn’t stopped by when she did. A shame, really. Salvatore couldn’t be mad at me if it was an accident, right? ‘Sorry, Salvatore, I was doing work for you, Rosetta got her hands on some coke, got high, and drowned little Primo in the bath.’”

“I hate you.”

Pietro laughs and grabs Primo’s wrist, yanking the boy’s arm forward. “The feeling is mutual.” He takes the cigarette from his mouth and presses the lit end into Primo’s hand. The boy has to once more bite the inside of his cheek. But this time it’s to keep from screaming. “And I wish you a horrible life full of pain and for you to die young and alone and unloved.”

He lets go of Primo’s wrist and grabs his chin, forcing the boy to meet his gaze. Primo’s eyes burn and his vision is blurry with unshed tears. “Glassy but at least you’re not mewling like some girl. Guess you aren’t a complete pussy after all.” Pietro lets go of Primo and the boy’s head nearly smacks against the table. “And Primo? Don’t go to Leonardo’s home again, capire?”

He doesn’t tell his father to go fuck himself even though he wants to.

“If I ever find out you went there again, Regina will become a widow before the day is done.”

 _Fuck you fuck you fuck you_.

“I understand,” he says. And they don’t talk anymore after that and when his father leaves again, probably to go to the bar, Primo runs his hand under cold water in an attempt to soothe the burn.

* * *

His thirteenth birthday comes four months later and he wishes he could spend it with Leonardo and Regina. He hasn’t spoken to or visited them since his father made that threat, only seeing them in passing and they’ve seen him. Every time Primo has to tamp down the urge to run to them. It seems like they have to do the same if their forlorn expressions as they continue to pass by without a word are anything to go by.

Giorgio stops by in the afternoon with the smallest cake he’s ever seen. “From Leonardo and Regina,” he says quietly as he hands it to Primo like it’s contraband. It _is_ with the way his father wants him to have absolutely nothing to do with the couple.

He sneaks it up to his room and doesn’t eat it for several hours because it’s the only thing he’s received today besides his father not hitting him and a sleepy ‘happy birthday’ from his mother. The fact she even remembered could be considered a miracle.

It’s actually depressing when the cake is gone. Feels like any other day where he’s had to dance around his father and hide things. He has to throw away Regina’s plate because his father absolutely cannot find it and silently he makes a vow to use the money he still has tucked away in his pillow case to buy her a new one.

He hates that he can’t so much as thank her tomorrow for it. Hates that he can’t do so today.

He hates his father.

* * *

A week after his lackluster birthday, someone is banging on the door at the crack of dawn and he begrudgingly gets out of bed to answer it.

It’s Stefano and before Primo can ask what he wants, the other drops the news. “Your father is dead.”

Primo only blinks at him, a bored expression on his face. “Okay.”

“Cousin, I don’t think you heard me. Your father is dead.”

“No, I heard you. I just don’t care,” he says bluntly. He feels both nothing knowing his father is gone and a happiness so great that it almost makes him dizzy.

“Don’t you want to know how he died?”

“Slowly, I hope.”

Stefano pretends like he didn’t hear that and continues on. “He was doing work for my father. A robbery. He was shot.”

“But did he die slowly?”

“I don’t know, Primo!”

“Unfortunate.” He slams the door on his cousin’s face and begins to make his way towards the stairs.

“Tell your mother, please!” Stefano yells through the door. “The funeral is in five days!”

 _Yeah yeah_.

Only his mother is still sleeping and he doesn’t want to wake her right now. He has somewhere more important to be; so he throws on his clothes as quickly as he can and races to Leonardo and Regina’s home. Nobody can stop him from doing so now, not unless his father miraculously rises from the dead.

Their car is gone. That means Leonardo isn’t home but that doesn’t mean Regina isn’t and so he knocks on the door and waits. The great thing about Regina is that she never makes one wait around long. The door opens in a few scant moments and she looks down at Primo with surprise that quickly bleeds away into a soft smile.

“Primo, it’s good to see you.”

It’s so good to see her too and he wishes he could see Leonardo right now but clearly that will have to wait. It doesn’t stop his infatuated teenage heart from being disappointed though.

“My father is dead.”

“I heard,” she responds softly.

“Am I a bad person if I don’t feel sad about it?”

“No, Primo. Absolutely not.” Her expression is hard and serious, telling Primo she means it.

“Am I a bad person if I’m happy that he’s gone?”

“No, caro.”

“Would Leonardo think me a terrible person?”

“Never.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He needed that validation from her but he especially needed to know when it came to Leonardo. He has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing hysterically now that he has it, now that he knows he can be thrilled about his father being dead. Even if Regina says it’s okay to be happy, he doesn’t want to look like he’s lost his mind in front of her.

“Do you want to come inside?” she asks, gesturing to the interior. “Leonardo will be home soon.”

Part of Primo would love nothing more than to do so but he knows he has to get back home. His father didn’t do much when it came to caring for his mother but now he’s all the woman has and he has to keep a closer eye on her.

“I can’t today. My mother.”

“Of course.” Before he can turn away, Regina speaks up again. “One moment. I know this isn’t the best time but...” she trails off as she reaches over to the small table by the door and produces an item wrapped in a shiny blue paper. “From me and Leonardo. Happy birthday, Primo.”

“Grazie.”

“Take care, caro.” She leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. Primo knows that if he fancied girls too, he would like Regina in the exact same way he does Leonardo.

* * *

His present—a novel entitled _Il ritratto di Dorian Gray_ —sits on his bedside table. Primo wonders, for the third time since he finished reading it, if Regina has perused its pages and if she did, how she couldn’t pick up on all the obvious homosexual subtext in it. Or maybe she had. And maybe she knew about him, and that’s why she had purchased it, but she couldn’t know, could she? He’s left to mull it over but knows he’s too nervous to ask the next time he sees her.

Instead, he worries over his mother who has spiraled further since his father died. Today is the day of the funeral and he’s had to not only get himself dressed but help her pick something to wear and make sure she was getting ready. She’s slow about it all and seems even more tired than usual. Primo entertains the idea of telling her to do the drugs he knows she has so she can be more alert but he doesn’t want to encourage it.

“Mama, are you ready yet?” Primo asks, giving up on his tie and pushing her bedroom door open.

Rosetta is sitting before her shabby little vanity, her hair is still a mess and she looks lost. Primo frowns and crosses to her, picking up her brush. “Let me help you, Mama.”

He has no idea how to style women’s hair but he tries and the end product isn’t terrible but it’s still not ideal. Far too many pins stick out and the bun sags. Primo gives up on her hair like he’s given up on his tie and rests his head against his mother’s shoulder. “Regina can fix it when she and Leonardo get here.”

When they do arrive, Primo opens the door with his mother leaning heavily against him. Regina frowns at the woman and takes her by the arm.

“Come, Rosetta, let’s put your hair up, hmm?”

The two women disappear into the house while Primo joins Leonardo outside.

“Want me to help with that?” Leonardo asks, indicating the tie that still hangs loose around Primo’s neck.

“Please. It’s confusing.”

“I’ll show you.” He watches and listens carefully as Leonardo explains the steps and demonstrates. The man undoes all his work once he’s crafted a perfectly fine knot. “Now you try.”

Primo does so, going over the instructions in his head. He decides to try and make some small talk then. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know but you have to.”

“They should have just thrown his body into the garbage with the rest of the trash.”

He’s so focused on his tie that he doesn’t notice the look that settles itself on Leonardo’s face. It’s the cruelest thing the man has heard the boy say. Leonardo has always noticed an intelligence in Primo’s eyes so intense that it goes far beyond his years. He knows the boy will be cunning and even dangerous later in life. But one can be dangerous without being cruel and he hopes Primo never crosses that line. Though Leonardo knows he could never hate him even if he did.

“Salvatore would never have allowed it.”

“Salvatore should die too.”

Leonardo hushes him, clapping a hand over Primo’s mouth and looking around wildly like somebody else might have heard. “Be careful with what you say.”

Primo nods and Leonardo removes his hand just as Regina and Rosetta are stepping outside.

* * *

It’s like the entire village has decided to attend. There’s far too many people and all the condolences—as if he hadn’t gotten enough of that at the wake—becomes white noise to Primo. Somebody says something about how he’s beginning to look so much like his father and fuck he hopes not. He doesn’t want to look anything like Pietro.

He doesn’t bother to try and make himself cry. He’s not about to put on an act over a man who never showed him an ounce of kindness. The cigarette burn on his hand is still there, a stark reminder of the day he learned he was a mistake.

When Primo is handed a shovel to throw on the first layer of dirt, he entertains the thought of refusing to do so but so many people are watching that he can’t. They all know Pietro was an utter piece of shit but it’d be shameful not to do this and Salvatore is still alive, still very capable of smacking him for being insolent. So he plays the good son in this and does as is expected. He fights the urge to spit on his father’s coffin.

Leonardo and Regina drop him and his mother off at home two hours later, Regina promising to bring them dinner the next day. Primo doesn’t tell her that it’s unnecessary because their fridge is so stuffed with food given to them by other residents that there’s no more room to fit anything. He thanks her and helps his mother out of the car, helps her inside and into a chair at the kitchen table.

Rosetta lights a cigarette. “I don’t know what we’re going to do now that your father is gone.”

“We’re better off without him,” Primo responds, resting his hands on the back of another chair.

“Primo, don’t say something so awful like that.”

“Don’t pretend like you loved him!” Primo exclaims.

“Please don’t yell,” she says, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and ring finger, cigarette held between her index and middle. “I have a headache.”

“When don’t you?”

“Primo—”

“I hate you.” He already told his father, he might as well get his feelings of her out as well.

“Why?”

“Why? Why!?” Primo can’t believe she’s actually asking this. “Maybe it’s because he baited you into fights and you took that bait and got me beat for it! Maybe it’s because you never once protected me from him! Maybe it’s because the only time you seem to give a _fuck_ about me is when you’re high! The only times I hear you call me a good son or you tell me that you love me is when you can’t even remember it. I don’t even think you know what you’re saying.” He takes in a shuddering breath. “You care more about your fucking drugs than you’ve ever cared about me.”

“Primo, you have to understand something,” his mother begins and the sudden clarity in her eyes is startling. “Sometimes, life beats you down so badly that you have to find ways to escape. You have to seek out a way to numb the pain. Some people turn to meaningless sex, some take up drinking...others use drugs. And they do this because feeling nothing at all is better than feeling everything at once.”

He can’t help but think that life has beaten him down enough already. How much worse could it possibly get? “I will never be like you,” he says out loud before he can stop himself.

“I hope not,” Rosetta says, leaning over and cupping his face. She brushes her thumb across his cheekbone and smiles sadly at him. “But don’t hold your breath. Anything can happen and then you’ll only look like a fool and a hypocrite.”

She stands and retreats into her bedroom. Primo has to use every ounce of willpower he has not to fling the chair he’s currently white knuckling at the wall.

* * *

With his father’s death comes a certain kind of freedom. With his father dead, there’s no one to threaten Leonardo and Regina anymore and so Primo runs off to their home when he can. It’s still not as often as he used to but it’s better to see them two or three times a week than not at all.

Things at home change too. Yes, Rosetta continues to get high and maintain that high throughout the day but now there’s no yelling. There’s no being smacked around every single day and he can actually go to school more often—something that his teacher is thrilled about.

His uncle shows up one morning to collect some of his father’s things and what remains afterwards Primo slowly gets rid of until his father’s room is barren. He wants not a single trace of the man to be left in the house.

Once that is taken care of, Primo, at last, takes the money from his pillow case, as he no longer has to hide anything anymore, and adds it to the tin.

Money comes out as needed such as to buy Regina a new plate and make sure that there is more than two items in the fridge at any given time. He even indulges a bit and buys himself some new clothes to replace the ones that can no longer fit his taller frame.

Life isn’t perfect but it’s better. Or it was for all of a month.

It’s raining outside and Primo is soaked by the time he arrives home from school and finds his mother on the floor. The kitchen floor, to be exact, not the bathroom where he’s used to seeing her when she’s made herself ill. And it makes Primo panic.

He rushes to her, knees hitting the floor so hard they ache. “Mama,” he says frantically, “Mama, wake up.” He holds his hand up to her face and doesn’t feel anything. He presses two fingers to her neck to find that there’s not even a faint flutter of a pulse.

Primo lifts her upper body into his arms, tries to get her to throw up. He’d heard once about doing this sort of thing if somebody has overdosed. He knows that’s what this is and he’s terrified. Primo might hate her but he doesn’t want her to die.

“Mama, please. Please don’t do this to me. I’m begging you. Don’t leave me alone.”

He can’t get her to vomit and so he stands on shaky legs and bolts out the door, back into the rain. He doesn’t stop until he’s in front of Leonardo and Regina’s house where he bangs on the front door.

Leonardo answers and when he sees the look on Primo’s face, his becomes concerned and serious. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My mother.”

That’s all Primo has to say to get Leonardo moving. He calls back to Regina, a quick exclamation of ‘Regina, it’s Rosetta!’ and she’s there, not bothering to throw on a coat.

The three of them return to Primo’s home as quickly as they can. Regina keeps Primo outside with her while Leonardo goes in. The rain is beating down on them and all he can hear is the sound of it and of rushing blood in his ears.

Time seems to slow down as they wait for Leonardo to emerge again.

His mother could be reckless with her drug usage. She made herself sick often but never had he thought she’d overdose. Had she done it on purpose? On accident? Had his father’s death and him yelling at her, telling her that he hated her, eventually drive her to this? Fuck, he doesn’t know.

And he realizes he never will, will never be able to ask her _why_ , when Leonardo steps out, looks at Regina, and shakes his head.

* * *

There’s less people at his mother’s funeral than there was at his father’s. It’s the least surprising thing to Primo. His mother had been reclusive, she had been known as the village coke head. Her reputation was marred by her habits. But while he’s not surprised about the turnout, he does think it unfair. His father had been such an abusive piece of shit and yet near everyone had attended. His mother, a woman who, while neglectful, had never physically harmed anyone got no more than ten to pay their respects.

What the fuck was actually wrong with this village?

Rosetta isn’t buried on top of or next to Pietro. They hadn’t even shared a bedroom so Primo can’t imagine she’d want to share a burial plot with him for all eternity either.

The service is so much shorter than his father’s and at the end of it, he makes to go towards Leonardo and Regina but Salvatore’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Come, Primo, we’re going home,” his uncle says as he steers Primo away and out of the cemetery. He glances over his shoulder towards the couple. He wants to duck out from under his uncle’s arm and go to them but he knows better than that.

His mother’s death hasn’t left him alone. It’s left him with Salvatore and that is so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primo's life be like: *conga line of terrible events*
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. bruise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally part of a much longer one but I split it up and made this its own for coherency's sake. The next chapter should be up within the next day or two as most of it is already written out.

One thing that Primo comes to learn whilst living with his uncle is that he _really fucking hates goats_. He especially can’t stand when one of the little bastards escapes because he’s always the one who’s sent out to go and retrieve it. Primo is sick and tired of having to trek through the woods every other week to find a single goat.

Today happens to be a day where one had decided it was a good idea to pull a jailbreak. Of course Salvatore sent him out and now he’s ankle deep in mud, staring up at the little shit that escaped who has taken up residence on the ridge above him.

“Get down here, you stupid fucking animal,” he seethes at it. Between the mud and the overbearing heat of the day and the long hike to find the beast, Primo is grumpy and tired and has no patience left in him for this.

The goat, however, doesn’t care about Primo because it cares for no one but itself and so it looks down on him and lets out a bleat in response.

“Maledetto fottuto animale,” Primo grumbles.

He sucks in a harsh breath through his nose. The damned thing is really going to make him climb up after it. Fine, he can play its stupid little game. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The downside of doing so is that by the time he returns to his uncle’s house, goat in his arms, he’s covered head-to-toe in mud. The men who let him through the gate wisely say nothing though Primo can tell they’re trying to hold in their laughter by the way they bite their lip and the look that they exchange.

When he spots Leonardo’s car, Primo prays the older man won’t see him like this, that maybe he’ll be able to slip past him. It’s a fool’s hope especially when he’s coming up the main path and the front door is _right there_ and, of fucking course, Leonardo has to be exiting his uncle’s house _right then_. And yes, Leonardo sees him and Primo wants whatever higher power there is to take him out in that very moment no hesitation.

“Ciao, Primo.”

“Ciao, Leo,” he mumbles, staring at the ground so he won’t make eye contact. He hands the goat off to one of the helpers.

“Again?”

“They’re constantly escaping. No matter how closely they’re watched they find a way. I think they do it on purpose to piss me off.”

Leonardo chuckles. With the older man, he never feels like he’s being laughed at but rather laughed with and he can’t help but let out a low chuckle himself.

“I have something for you, it’s in my car.”

Primo snatches a rag that’s hanging on the fence close by to clean off as much of the mud on his hands as he can. He follows Leonardo to his car where the man produces a thick volume from the passenger seat. _Filosofia_ is printed in big, bold letters on the cover. It doesn’t look cheap and whilst Primo is elated to see it, he wishes Leonardo and Regina would stop spending money like this on him.

They started buying him all manner of books on various subjects once he told them that he stopped attending school. The decision hadn’t been his, it had been Salvatore’s. Primo had tried to argue against it and all that accomplished was him trudging into the schoolhouse the next day, with a split lip and a wicked bruise purpling his cheek, to inform his teacher he wouldn’t be returning. She had looked so disappointed but not in the least bit surprised.

No Nizzuto had ever finished school and he was going to continue that tradition. Not Stefano though. He had the good fortune of being such a disappointment that Salvatore had disowned him so thoroughly one night, some months ago, that not a single soul referred to the older boy as Salvatore’s child. As far as anyone was concerned, the Don had never had a son. Stefano himself wasn’t even allowed to call him ‘father’ anymore, only ‘uncle’.

Stefano had left Calabria the night Salvatore washed his hands of him and was currently living with their much older aunt—the only Nizzuto sibling to not be a piece of shit—in Rome and he would be finishing up his studies soon and heading off to university.

Their aunt had married a well off man and had the money to spare for such a thing. She’d never had children of her own and so had happily accepted Stefano into her home. Their aunt never raised a hand to him.

Primo was envious of the other boy.

Meanwhile he had to hide all his books under a loose floorboard—soon to be floorboards—in his room. Could only read them using a shitty little candle at night or when his uncle wasn’t home. Some of the books he’d purchased himself, the rest were from the couple and one day after receiving a second-hand textbook on biology, Primo had had a sickening feeling in his stomach about how Regina and Leonardo must see him and he’d asked if they viewed him like a son.

The couple had only glanced at each other and responded, “No. Do you want us to?”

Relief had washed over him like a flood because no, that is very much not what he ever wants. It would make his infatuation with Leonardo incredibly inappropriate and he doesn’t think he could ever bury his feelings down deep enough inside of himself that they might disappear.

He’d responded with a ‘no’ himself and they had informed him they saw him as more of a friend which was so much better than son. And the knowledge of that made it easier to accept their gifts.

“Grazie, Leo,” Primo says, taking the book from the man. He’ll have to sneak it in under his clothes but it’ll be easy enough to do. His uncle hardly pays attention to him anyway.

“See you later, Primo.”

“Ciao.”

He watches Leonardo drive off before heading inside. As expected, Salvatore doesn’t do much more than greet him. He doesn’t notice Primo awkwardly holding his middle or the fact one section of his shirt is suddenly very square. The man can be so observant but he gives such little care about his nephew. It works for Primo.

It lets him hold onto these little presents from the couple. The only two people in the world who mean anything to him.

* * *

The sky is overcast and there’s a drizzle of rain coming down. It’s not enough to be much of a bother, certainly not to Salvatore and his associates who are gathered in a group in the field by the house.

The only face Primo cares about is Leonardo’s.

He’s speaking to Salvatore, while some of the others fire guns at clay pigeons, when the teen walks up. Primo knows damn well he can’t interrupt their discussion so he plans to hang back until they’re done after exchanging a quick ‘hello’. But they don’t have the time to so much as greet each other before Salvatore is speaking up.

“Manno, hand Primo the gun,” he says.

Primo stops dead in his tracks. He glances between Manno, the gun, Leonardo, and his uncle. He’s never fired a gun before. And the double barrel shotgun Manno currently has in his hands is mildly intimidating.

“Salvatore, he’s only fifteen,” Leonardo argues though there’s no weight to it.

“Quiet,” Salvatore orders. “He has to learn. His father and I were much younger than he was when we first used one.” Primo tries not to cringe at the mention of Pietro. He hopes the man is burning in Hell.

Leonardo looks like he wants to say something more but Primo interjects before the man can utter a single syllable. “I’ll do it.”

He’s not sure if it’s to placate his uncle or an attempt to impress Leonardo or both but he takes the gun from Manno. The man explains to him, in detail, how to use it and then he allows Primo to load the gun himself.

Salvatore calls for the one manning the trap to let one of the pigeons loose. Primo snaps the barrel closed, lifts the gun, and settles the butt against his shoulder. The pigeon flies up into the air. He tracks it for a second, lining up the shot. Once he’s gotten it in the sights, he pulls the trigger.

The kickback nearly knocks him off balance. The pigeon explodes in brilliant fashion.

Salvatore and the others cheer. It’s the first time, that Primo can recall, that his uncle has ever looked proud of him and the part of him that longs so much to please his uncle, despite everything, eats it up.

His gaze flits from Salvatore to Leonardo. The other man has a subtle look of pride on his own face and it makes Primo a bit weak in the knees though thankfully he remains standing.

“He’s better than you were when first using a gun,” one of the men says to Manno.

“Lucky shot,” Manno huffs.

“Go again, Primo,” Salvatore commands.

So he does and the second pigeon is blown to pieces as well. Primo can hear Manno swear softly behind him and he can’t help the smirk that comes to his face.

* * *

The bruise that mars his shoulder the following morning aches. The pain makes it difficult for him to move his arm but he finds he doesn’t mind. It was worth getting it to see even a sliver of pride on his uncle’s face. To see Leonardo looking at him so fondly.

His uncle had made him try out a variety of guns yesterday afternoon, including a rifle, and Primo found that he’s surprisingly good with each of them. He’s not sure whether to be pleased with himself or worried about what this all might mean about him as a person. What it might mean about his future. Will he be a killer like his father? Like most of Salvatore’s associates?

Primo knows Salvatore isn’t happy that he has no choice but to have Primo be his heir. But him becoming Don is a long way off yet. He’ll have to do work for his uncle first. Primo knows that murder in their line of work is common and he wonders if he’ll be able to kill anybody when it’s required of him. When it’s necessary.

Will he even have a soul left once he reaches that point? Will Leonardo and Regina still care about him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Italian:  
> Maledetto fottuto animale = Goddamn fucking animal
> 
> As someone who has fired guns before due to wanting to do something to bond with my father some years ago, I can attest that the bruising you get on your shoulder from using a shotgun/rifle really goddamn hurts. The pain lasts for like a week.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. roman holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. This chapter is really long, it's actually longer than the one-shot that this fic is an expansion of lmao.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Attempted sexual assault, one instance of a homophobic "joke", and someone mentioning that men cannot be victims of sexual assault (this is due to the time period and not out of willful ignorance or trying to be purposefully hurtful).

There’s nine of them hanging around Giorgio’s car, waiting for the last of their party to appear so they can get going. Giorgio had decided they should take a trip into Rome where his father had found work the month before. Miraculously, Salvatore had given permission for Primo to go.

Not wishing to test his luck, he had then turned to Leonardo and Regina and had stayed at their home for the week leading up to the trip. The couple had tried to give him money that morning but he refused to take it. The ten of them that would be heading up to the capital had all pooled together whatever money they had. Primo was the one who’d given the largest sum, paying for more than half of it. And it was all thanks to the tin he still had from years ago that he had slowly been continuing to add to whenever he got a lira here and there.

Originally he had been saving up to get out of Salvatore’s place but he didn’t mind using it to travel to the capital. Even Leonardo and Regina had encouraged him to go, to spend time with his friends. To just be young and enjoy life. And so he had dumped out every last lira into the pile.

Now they’re here, four girls, five boys, milling about, smoking and chatting. All waiting for the final boy who is running more than a little late.

“Oi, Giorgio? What the fuck is this?” Primo asks, flipping the ID card—that is so clearly fake not to mention poorly made—over in his hands. He’s sitting on the hood of the other boy’s car, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Let me see,” his friend, Ada, says from behind him, abandoning playing with his hair which has gotten long. She snatches the card from his hand and leans against him, her chest to his back.

They had gone to school together but Primo had never really noticed her at the time nor she him. Their official meeting had been a little over seven months ago when she had called down to him from a balcony as he was taking a walk through the village.

“Oi, you,” she had whispered down to him. He had looked up, brow raised in question. And there was Ada, gazing down at him. “Catch.”

Her clothes had come tumbling down and Primo hadn’t made any effort to do as he was told. She let out an annoyed huff. “Well, you better catch me!”

And then she was jumping down. He did catch her and was nearly taken to the ground with her clothes. Primo hadn’t realized she had not a stitch on her for a few long seconds and when he did, he had quickly set her on her feet.

“Grazie,” Ada grinned as she bent down to collect her things. She looked back up at him and it was like a light bulb had gone off in her head “Oh! I know you, we went to school together. Don’t think we ever talked though. Ada Gallo.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake.

“Primo,” he answered dumbly, taking her hand. “Nizzuto.”

“Yeah, I know. Everyone knows your family. Impossible not to,” she said as she began to throw her clothes on. “I was at your dad’s funeral.”

“You and the rest of the village,” Primo had responded as he turned his back to her, allowing her some privacy.

Ada had laughed. “What, never seen a naked girl before?”

“No.”

“You’re cute.”

“Why _are_ you naked?” he asked, ignoring her comment.

“I was having a roll with Marco and his parents got home early. Had to get out before they found me and that left me no time to throw on my clothes. You came by just in time.” She had finished putting her clothes on then and stepped in front of Primo. “Okay then, Primo Nizzuto, lets go have lunch.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Ada replied. “You did a favor for me, now I’ll treat you to lunch.”

And from that strange little meeting, they had become fast friends.

She’s also the only person in the village who knows about him—so he thinks. She’d scared him half to death when she brought it up and when Primo had tried to deny it, all Ada did was scoff and respond with ‘don’t bullshit me, I see how you look at Leonardo. Like how every other horny teenage boy looks at girls.’ There was no arguing with her there.

It’s nice, actually, to have somebody who knows and doesn’t care.

Ada lets out a bark of laughter behind him. “Seriously, Giorgio?”

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

Ada hands the card back to Primo and plucks the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to her own and lighting it. “Let’s start with the fact that the ID says you’re thirty-five.”

“It does not!”

“Yes it does,” Primo says, turning it over again. He steals the cigarette from Ada’s hands to take a drag, only continuing once he’s exhaled. “Right here. Your birth year is listed as nineteen-twenty. That would make you thirty-five today.”

“Wow, Giorgio,” Lucia gasps mockingly, hand on her chest, “I didn’t know you fought in World War II.”

“Oh, you didn’t? Well, I’ll have you know I strangled fascists with jump ropes.”

“I’ve seen you try and untangle a jump rope so unless they were handed to you completely straight, you weren’t strangling anybody,” Primo says dryly. The others howl with laughter.

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter, I can pull off looking thirty-five.”

Ada lets out an amused snort. “You can barely pass for sixteen _now_.”

“Did you draw a mustache on your photo?” Primo asks, squinting down at the picture.

“I might have.”

“It looks awful.”

“At least I can grow facial hair,” Giorgio says defensively.

“Four hairs above your lip doesn’t count.”

“Hey, Primo, you know what you can do?”

“Go fuck myself?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Giorgio says at the same time.

“Not to interrupt,” a boy next to them says then. He’s leaning back against the hood of the car. He has olive skin and sports short, light brown hair and dark brown eyes. His name is Dario and Ada told Primo earlier that he’s also gay. Primo thinks he’s cute enough. Not handsome, Dario’s features are still far too soft for that, but he’s good-looking. He’s also far too sweet to be hanging out with any of them. “But how are we going to fit ten people into the car? There’s only five seats.”

“I was thinking we could probably shove a couple people into the trunk. Maybe Tommaso and Primo.”

“I’m not getting into your fucking trunk, Giorgio,” Primo states.

“Pretty sure Primo would have to break his legs to even fit,” Ada adds. “He’s too tall now.”

“Good point,” Giorgio hums. He looks at Primo, “Why couldn’t you stay short?”

“Why couldn’t you stay in your mother’s womb?”

“Shut up,” Giorgio grouses. “Anyway, okay, I guess Tommaso and Lapo can ride in the trunk. I’m driving, of course, Battista can sit in the front with me, Imelda on his lap. Then Dario, Primo, and Lucia in the back. Mariella can sit on Dario’s lap and Ada on Primo’s. Shouldn’t be any trouble for them, Ada sits on Primo’s lap frequently, I’m sure,” he finishes with a shit-eating grin on his face.

He could believe whatever he wanted but Ada had never even seen Primo with more than his shirt off.

“Hey, Giorgio, at least I _fuck_. Unlike you who still has those twenty year old skin mags you stole from your dad.” The group bursts into more fits of laughter.

“This is why you and Primo are perfect for each other. Un paio di stronzi.”

Ada and Primo flip him off.

Giorgio flicks ash onto the ground. He turns to the others and claps his hands together. “Ah, right, almost forgot. Because Primo is so generously paying for most of this trip and it wouldn’t be possible if he weren’t doing so, let’s all thank him. Everyone, say ‘grazie, Primo!’”

“Please don—”

“Grazie, Primo!” the group shouts louder than necessary. Primo only puts his head in his hands.

Lapo, the one they had been waiting on all this time, finally appears, racing down the street with his bag in hand. He’s panting like a dog by the time he reaches them. “Sorry, I had to claw myself away from my mother. Right as I was about to leave the house, she started crying and wouldn’t let go of me. Cristo, she was acting like I was going off to _war_.”

“Amazing story,” Giorgio says as he takes Lapo’s bag and throws it onto the roof with the other luggage, “Now get in the trunk.”

“What?”

“The trunk. There isn’t enough room so you and Tommaso have to ride in there.”

“Tommaso!” Lapo shouts in frustration. “Seriously? You didn’t argue about this?”

“I just want to get to fucking Rome,” Tommaso groans.

“Isn’t Rome five hours away!?” Lapo demands.

“More or less,” Giorgio responds. “Don’t worry, we’ll stop every couple of hours to let you two out.”

“You better.”

“We will, I promise. Alright, everyone, get your asses in the car!”

The seating arrangements made things extremely cramped in the backseat but it wasn’t the worst. Primo’s left side and Dario’s right were pressed close together and both boys made eye contact for a moment before quickly looking away.

The drive is long and tiring. At one point Primo and Battista have to get out to push the car after it stalls in an attempt to kick start the engine to life again. Lady Luck is with them because it works and both boys have to quickly hop back into the car.

“Why don’t you get this piece of shit fixed?” Battista questions Giorgio once he’s fully settled back into his seat.

“And where do you want me to pull the money for that from? My ass?”

“I mean, you can get money for taking it up the ass.”

They devolve into roars of laughter. Primo and Dario share a look and sink further into their seats. Ada rolls her eyes in disgust and smacks Battista and Giorgio in the back of the head. Neither can think of why she did it and she won’t grace them with an explanation. It would be useless anyway. Not to mention the risk of possibly outing Primo and Dario is too great.

* * *

The group rolls into Rome late in the afternoon. Everyone is exhausted except for Giorgio who is practically bouncing in his seat.

“Here we are, everyone, Rome!” A quiet, tired chorus of cheer rises within the car. “I can’t hear you!” The cheer grows louder. “That’s better.”

Giorgio continues to drive, navigating through the streets of the capital. It’s another ten minutes before he stops in front of an apartment building. “And this is where we’ll be staying. It’s my father’s place but he’s not here much.”

“I’m so fucking tired,” Mariella whines from the backseat.

“Me too,” Ada agrees.

“I better let Lapo and Tommaso out of the trunk before they die,” Primo says as he opens the door. Ada slips out before him and the others come tumbling out after.

Tommaso and Lapo emerge from the trunk in a sleepy mess, just like the rest of them but Giorgio seems to pay none of it any mind. “So,” he begins, “What do you want to do first?”

“Sleep,” Imelda mumbles.

“What? We just got here and you want to sleep?”

“Yes,” the rest of them say in unison.

Outnumbered, Giorgio throws his arms up in defeat. “ _Fine_.”

The apartment is a relatively good size and with the minimalist furniture, they’ll have more than enough room to spread out.

The girls take the second bedroom while Giorgio claims his father’s room, leaving the rest of the boys to sprawl out in the living room either on the couches or down on the floor.

This is the first time most of them have been outside of Calabria. In fact, most have not even stepped foot outside the village. Primo hadn’t until this day and to go from that to a major city is jarring even if they had only walked from the car and into the apartment. The sights and sounds as they drove through the streets had been enough. He can’t imagine what it’ll be like to actually experience the place.

* * *

“Primo, get up. Priiimmmoooooo!” Ada calls as she jumps up and down on the couch that he had claimed last night.

The boy opens his eyes to glare at her. “What?”

“Get up. We’re going for breakfast.”

Primo glances outside. “It’s still dark out,” he groans and turns over, pulling the blanket up and over his head.

“Yes, but it’s nearly six and we’re all hungry,” Ada informs him, yanking the blanket down. “Get up or the next time I jump onto the couch, I’ll aim for your dick.”

That’s all the motivation he needs to roll off the couch and head for the bathroom.

“Got Primo up!” He hears Ada call to the others.

Within the next half hour they’re out of the apartment and have found seating at a cafè not far from it. Some of the older patrons are eyeing them warily. They’re a bunch of raucous teenagers who are so clearly not from the area, it’s to be expected that people would look at them strangely. Especially when they’re not making any attempt to hide their Calabrian roots, utilizing the dialect whilst speaking to one another.

“So I was thinking we should go see the Colosseum today,” Giorgio proposes.

“Can we not act like tourists?” Tommaso asks as he lights a cigarette.

“The Colosseum is part of our history.”

“We can go see it later,” Ada says. “We should spend the first couple days actually exploring.”

“I agree with Ada,” Dario says. The others echo his sentiment.

“I’m not even going to bother asking Primo what he thinks. He’ll just go along with Ada like some fucking leashed dog.” Primo kicks him in the shin under the table. “Cazzo!”

“Call me a dog again and the next kick will be to the balls.”

Giorgio huffs as he makes a point to push his chair further away from Primo. He knows full well the other boy will make good on the threat. Nizzuto’s don’t make them lightly.

“Alright. I know a few places. And I can probably sneak us into a club or two tonight.”

“Sounds perfect,” Ada purrs as she snatches away the cigarette that Primo has only just gotten out of the pack. “So where do we start?”

* * *

Giorgio keeps his word and doesn’t take them to the Colosseum but he does take them to the Basilica of Maxentius and Constantine ruins after carting them around to various shops. There is some complaining but for the most part everyone is content in seeing them, especially with how little foot traffic there is, giving them mostly free reign to run about the place.

“I swiped something from the apartment,” Giorgio announces around noon when they are beginning to get tired of being in the ruins. He leaves them to rush out to the car and when he returns, he shows off a bottle of wine with a flourish.

“No glasses? Are we barbarians?” Lucia snorts in mild annoyance.

“Lucia, do you want the wine or not?”

She hesitates long enough to distract Giorgio, allowing Primo to steal the bottle from the other boy’s hands. “This looks expensive,” he comments as he observes the label.

“Probably is.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t drink it then, your dad could get mad if he finds out,” Imelda says.

“Oh come on, having some of the good stuff won’t kill anybody. I’m sick of drinking cheap shit. Sick of being poor.”

“We’re all tired of being poor,” Ada adds.

“Fuck it,” Primo says, “Battista, you got your knife?”

“Always do.” The larger boy hands it to Primo who in turn uses it to slice open the paper around the neck of the bottle and get the cork out.

The taste is interesting. So different from what Primo is used to back home with wine that nearly tastes like vinegar. This is smoother, lighter, with a hint of citrus to it. It’s so much better than the shit back in their village. And maybe it was a mistake to open it, to think they had any damn right to indulge in something they might never have again but Primo finds he doesn’t actually care. Their social status doesn’t mean they don’t deserve this and he has no intention of being poor the rest of his life.

This is no delusion. One day he’ll either get out of Calabria for good, find work that will do more than let him only just survive; or he’ll raise it up to be more than it is, he’s certain of that. Primo is clever and intelligence can get one far.

They pass the bottle around until it’s empty and Giorgio announces they should hit up some clubs. Though ‘some clubs’ turns into a singular club as they all collectively decide to indulge further and continue to order drink after drink. From whiskey to wine to brandy and bourbon.

By the time the teens stumble back into the apartment that night, they are thoroughly intoxicated. Nobody thinks about the bedrooms and they all end up laying in something of a heap on the floor.

Dario’s face is in Primo’s chest and he doesn’t move the other boy away. Only closes his eyes and lets sleep overtake him.

* * *

Despite the pounding in his head thanks to a hangover, Primo has to admit that last night was the most fun he’s had in his life. It was one day spent acting like an actual kid and not worrying constantly about if he would say or do the wrong thing and get hit for it. He felt genuinely excited about the rest of the trip.

It was too bad it was only for a week and that was if their money lasted that long. With the way Giorgio wanted to run around and their irresponsible spending the night before, it might not. But whatever time they did have in Rome, Primo planned on enjoying every last second of it.

The group visits the catacombs and Palatine Hill. And Primo can’t help but notice Dario sticking close by his side and how Dario will brush his fingers against his own at random. He finds himself at one point start to do the same.

He doesn’t really know the other boy but it feels nice to not be so alone. To have somebody _like him_ around. For all he has a crush on Leonardo, he has no idea if the man likes others of the same gender as well. Or if Leonardo will ever look at him that way. If he were a better person he wouldn’t care given Leonardo is married and he likes Regina but he’s selfish and he wants Leonardo too.

When night falls once more, Battista proposes that they sneak into a strip club. It’s such a typical teenage boy desire and even the girls don’t seem opposed to it, only shrugging their shoulders.

“I’m not interested,” Ada says. “You all have fun. Except you two.” She loops her arms through Primo and Dario’s own, holding them back. “I don’t want to be alone so I’m stealing them.”

“Why, plan to have a threesome back at the apartment?” Giorgio snickers.

“You wish,” Ada scoffs. “We’re going to see some other shops. We’ll catch up with you later.”

When the other seven have gone, Primo turns to Ada with a raised brow.

“Don’t give me that look. Would a _female_ strip club even do anything for either of you?”

“No,” Primo and Dario say at once.

“Alright then. I mean, sure, it could be fun but I’m not interested right now. I don’t want to spend all our nights here going from one club to the next.”

“So what shops did you want to look at?” Dario asks.

Ada’s lips curl into a far too amused smirk. “There was an adult store a few streets back.”

“Would this adult store possibly be aimed at gay men?” Primo inquires, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It could be. I mean, there are ways to tell if you look carefully enough.”

“ _Ada_.”

“What? We could get you both some magazines. Help you not be so fucking repressed.”

“Think of something else.” It’s not that Primo would mind looking, it’s that he knows Ada far too well even after just seven months. She’ll insist on purchasing the magazines and if the others saw, if his _uncle_ saw, his life would be over. He has an imagination and that’s more than enough.

“You’re no fun,” Ada grumbles. “But okay. I did see a bakery that looked good. Let’s go grab something to eat.”

They follow her to a cute little shop on the corner three streets over. Ada hangs back, digging into her bag to produce a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“You two go inside, I want to grab a smoke. I trust you to get something I’ll like, Primo.”

“Stay close,” Primo tells her as he pulls the door open, letting Dario in first.

“I will.”

They’re the only ones in the bakery and it’s clear by the employees’ tired expressions that they were getting ready to close down for the night. Dario gives the workers an apologetic look and promises them that they won’t be long.

Neither boy actually wants anything and so Primo orders a couple zeppole for Ada alone.

“How long have you two known each other?” Dario asks as they wait for their order to be packed up.

“Hmm?”

“You and Ada. How long have you known each other for?”

“Almost eight months now.”

Dario laughs. “I would have guessed a few years. Maybe even since you were little. You both seem very close.”

“Ada is one of those people,” Primo says with a shrug. “Difficult not to get close to her in a short amount of time.”

“She trusts you to order food for her.”

“We’ve eaten together enough times for me to know her likes and dislikes.”

“I hope we can get there soon too,” Dario says shyly, looking down at the black and white tiled floor beneath his feet.

“Yeah,” Primo replies. What else is he supposed to say? He’s never been on the receiving end of...what was this exactly? Somebody’s affections?

Dario doesn’t look put out so he supposes he hasn’t said the wrong thing. And suddenly he’s also gazing down at the floor and God, why did this have to turn so awkward so quickly?

The woman who hands him the box of zeppole is a savior in that moment, giving both boys an escape.

They shuffle out of the store, ready for Ada to break the tension but when they step onto the street, she’s nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Ada?” Primo inquires, looking around in an attempt to spot the girl.

“Get off of me! Let me go!” The scream echoes out from an alley some ways off and Primo’s heart plunges into his stomach.

 _Ada_.

The box is abandoned, dropped onto the stone streets as the pair bolts towards the source of the scream. What greets them is the image of Ada struggling to fight off a man that has her arms pinned to the wall behind her. He’s reaching for his belt and Primo’s vision goes red in that very moment.

There’s a car some feet away with a loose tire. The owner isn’t around and even if they were, Primo still would have snatched up the tire iron that is resting atop the hood.

“Primo, what are you doing?” Dario asks in alarm.

But Primo doesn’t hear him, only marches into the alley, grip tight on the iron. “Hey!” he shouts, getting the man’s attention. When he turns, Primo swings the weapon at his face as hard as he can. The crack of the iron meeting flesh and bone echoes through the alley and the spray of blood that erupts from the man’s nose and gushes from his mouth is disturbingly satisfying to see.

The attack is enough to loosen his grip, allowing Ada to run from him and into Dario’s arms. She’s safe now but Primo isn’t done yet.

“You little bastard!” the man spits.

Primo steps back, dodging the swing of the man’s left arm, the punch nearly striking him in the face. He switches the iron from his right to his left hand as he sees an opening. Again the weapon is smashed into the other’s jaw. He makes to do it again but the man grabs him and slams him harshly against the wall, causing Primo to drop the iron.

Hands are around his throat, choking him. He kicks out as best he can, aiming for the man’s groin. It takes him four attempts before it connects and then he’s being dropped and taking in great lungfuls of air.

“I’ve called the police!” A woman’s voice shouts from somewhere outside the alley. “They’ll be here soon!”

“Come on!” Ada exclaims, frantic. She and Dario grab at Primo, hoisting him up and hauling him from the alley as Ada’s attacker groans on the ground. “We need to get out of here!”

Primo wants nothing more than to go back and end the man’s life but he knows she’s right. He cannot get himself arrested. After all, who would the police believe? A grown man or a group of teenagers from Calabria? The answer is obvious.

* * *

Ada is still crying by the time the other seven return to the apartment. She had broken down the second she, Primo, and Dario entered the safety of its walls. That had been a half hour ago but neither boy was going to tell her to get over it, that she has cried far too much. They both understand that the ordeal she had gone through was terrifying, that if they hadn’t showed up when they did then much worse would have happened to her.

It’s clear the worst case scenario continues to play on repeat in her head just as much as it is in Primo’s own. He should have stayed outside with her until she was done smoking. He shouldn’t have left her alone. This was his fault.

“What the fuck?” Giorgio all but shouts upon walking in and seeing Ada in tears and Primo disheveled. “What happened?”

Primo and Dario wordlessly glance at each other then towards Ada but neither makes a move to say anything.

“Oh just tell them,” Ada bites out in between her sobs.

Primo takes in a steadying breath. “Ada was attacked.”

“Oh my God.” Lucia claps a hand over her mouth. The others look at each other warily.

“I stopped it before it could go that far,” Primo adds, knowing exactly where everyone’s mind is going.

“Thank God,” Giorgio breathes. “When did this happen?”

“About half an hour ago, I think.”

Giorgio gives Ada a perplexed look. “Then why are you crying? Nothing happened. You’re fine.”

It’s as if a switch has been flipped because suddenly Ada stops shaking, her cries dying down. Her head snaps up to meet Giorgio’s gaze. There’s a burning hatred there and Primo knows, in the split second between that look and Ada launching herself to her feet, what his friend plans to do. He should let her but he can’t. She’ll only feel badly about it later and that’s the last thing she needs right now.

Primo encircles his arms around her abdomen, holding her back as she attempts to go after Giorgio. She struggles against him and shrieks a litany of curses at the other boy. As small as Ada is, she’s surprisingly strong and soon enough, her and Primo are falling backwards.

He lands on his ass and Ada ends up in his lap, her back pressed to his front. All the fight goes out of her then. She folds in on herself and releases such a gut-wrenching cry that it causes a desire to bloom within Primo’s chest. A desire to go back out there and find the fucker. To bash his skull in until his own mother won’t even recognize him. Until his head is little more than blood and gore and bits of bone.

The urge is so great that he has to find a way to ground himself so he doesn’t up and do it. Ada needs him right now. He can’t abandon her to go on a crusade of revenge.

“What did I say?” Giorgio asks in confusion.

That is all Primo needs to keep himself in the moment. His gaze snaps up to meet Giorgio’s and he wonders what look has settled itself upon his face like a mask when the rest of the group looks at him in evident fear. Does he look like his father in this moment? Is his expression the same as when his father would grow angry? It must be. It’s having the same effect on his friends as his father’s expressions of anger had on everyone when he still drew breath. With a look, Pietro could get anybody, even Salvatore, to hold their tongue.

Any other time the very thought that he might look anything like his father would disgust him to his very core but in this moment he doesn’t care. He’s glad for it.

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Giorgio, or I will _make you_ shut up.”

Giorgio says nothing, only shrinks away from the other boy. Primo watches him with the same intensity as a predator tracking its prey. His focus only breaks from Giorgio when Ada presses further into his chest and another heaving sob leaves her. He tightens his arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder.

Primo lets her cry as long as she needs.

* * *

They’re given the spare bedroom.

Primo is lying on his back with Ada’s head resting on his chest, her hand splayed over his heart. His arm is around her, holding her close and her left leg is thrown over his own. She’s stopped crying though every once in awhile she sniffles.

“Orsomarso is far from perfect, but at least this sort of thing doesn’t happen there.”

No, it doesn’t. Salvatore is a mean son of a bitch but even he has lines that he won’t cross and he expects those in the village not to cross them either. Anybody who does is as good as dead and every last soul in Calabria knows it.

“You’re lucky,” Ada says, one finger absentmindedly tracing patterns over Primo’s chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you had the good fortune of being born a guy. Men don’t have to worry about getting attacked like that. You can go places, be with people, walk down the fucking street, and not have to worry about someone taking advantage of you.”

Primo says nothing though he knows she’s right. He’s never once thought about being assaulted in such a way nor has he ever heard another man express fear of it. He’s heard talk from women and other girls though. The terror they carry around. The fearfulness of stepping outside their village, their worry that it might happen to them if they’re not careful enough. And the fear is more than justified, especially when there are some women who have gone through it living in Orsomarso.

One of Regina’s closest friends is a survivor of such an encounter. Primo had met her once and she was kind but there was something in her eyes that told Primo she still suffered from what happened to her even if she appeared jovial.

“Did I ever tell you that I want to open a shop?” Ada asks, her mind moving onto another topic entirely in an effort to distract herself.

“No, you didn’t. What kind?”

She shifts, turning further into Primo’s side and propping her chin up on his chest, waiting for him to look down at her so their eyes can meet. Ada only continues when they do. “A flower shop,” she responds with a half smile on her face.

“A flower shop?” Primo laughs. “Do you even know anything about flowers?”

“I am offended you would ask such a thing,” Ada gapes though it’s clear she’s attempting to hold in a laugh of her own. “Of course I know about flowers! I know all about them, even their meanings. Like petunias are for anger and resentment, calla lilies are for purity and passion, peonies for romance and prosperity.”

“I’m impressed.”

“You should be.” She sighs then, dejected. “But it’ll never happen. Nobody in our village has any use for flowers. And even if they did, I could never get the money I’d need to buy a place.”

“When I’m Don, I’ll give you the money to open up a store.”

Ada laughs. “Don’t make fun of me, Nizzuto.”

“I’m not. I mean it. The second I’m Don, I’ll buy you an entire building.”

“You’re sweet,” Ada whispers. She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth before settling down again. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me,” Primo says. “Go to sleep, Ada.”

“Sing to me?”

“I can’t really—”

“Per favore?”

Primo sighs gently. He can’t deny her this and so he wracks his brain for anything he can sing to her. Eventually his mind settles on a song he’s heard mother’s sing to their children in the village to soothe them.

He sings it low enough that it will not carry out into the living room. This is for Ada and Ada alone, the others don’t have the privilege of being brought into this moment between them.

He doesn’t stop until sleep comes for him.

* * *

Giorgio steps out onto the balcony where Primo is smoking the next morning.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did last night.”

“Yeah, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Primo—”

“Don’t ‘Primo’ me. You saw how fucking upset Ada was and you still had to run your fucking mouth. You’re lucky I don’t kick your teeth down your throat.”

“Right.” Giorgio audibly swallows. “Well, the others are waiting for us to go and get breakfast.”

“We’re not going.”

“What?”

“Ada wants to go home and I’m taking her.”

“When did she tell you that?”

“Just before I came out here.”

When Primo had brought up going out that day as he and Ada were getting dressed, she had clung to him. _Take me home, Primo. Please, Primo, I want to go home_. He had made up his mind in an instant.

“I’m going to need your keys,” Primo says.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have an ID which means I can’t rent a car. So I’m going to need to borrow yours.”

“Do you even know how to get back to Calabria from here?”

“I paid attention on the drive. I’ll be able to get us to Orsomarso.”

“Okay...and how are _we_ supposed to get back at the end of the week?”

“I’ll drive back today with Leo. We’ll leave the car in front of the apartment.” Giorgio hesitates. “You owe Ada for the shit you said last night.”

“You’re right...you’re right. Just...don’t damage it, okay?”

“I’m not going to damage your car. Go get your keys.”

Giorgio hands them off to Primo once he comes in from the balcony. Ada is already waiting by the front door and Dario is with her, his own bag in hand.

“What are you doing?” Primo questions.

“I’m coming with you. I don’t really want to be here anymore either,” Dario answers.

“Seriously?” Giorgio huffs. “You too?”

“There’s still seven of you,” Primo points out. “You’ll hardly miss us. Besides, now Tommaso and Lapo don’t have to ride in the trunk.” He opens the door and ushers Ada and Dario out. “Remember, I’ll be dropping the car off tonight.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before exiting the apartment.

* * *

The drive back to the village is deathly quiet. Nobody says anything to anybody and it makes the journey feel so much longer than it already is.

Ada kisses him on the cheek once they pull up in front of her house and bids both boys a farewell. Primo plans to check in with her tomorrow to make sure she’s alright.

“You’re a good friend,” Dario speaks up at last when Primo parks the car in front of the other boy’s house.

“I’m not doing anything special.”

“You could have acted like Giorgio.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

Dario chuckles. He clears his throat and Primo looks up at him in time to catch Dario leaning in. The boy presses his lips to Primo’s and Primo closes his eyes, relishing the feeling of being kissed for the first time. He’s unsure how to kiss and he thinks he does a terrible job of it compared to the other but Dario says nothing when they pull away, only smiles at Primo.

“See you later,” he whispers before exiting the car.

Primo watches him until he disappears inside and then he’s heading towards Leonardo and Regina’s home.

Regina is surprised to see him. Surprised and concerned. She’s always been able to tell when something is wrong with someone with an ease that is truly to be admired.

“What happened?” she asks.

“It’s not my place to say,” Primo answers. “Is Leo home? I need to bring Giorgio’s car back to Rome.”

“He’s inside. I’ll go get him.” Regina looks back at him after taking a single step. “Are you sure you can’t talk about it?”

“I’m sure.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“No, Regina. I’m fine. I promise.”

“Okay.” She vanishes into the house and moments later Leonardo emerges, Regina close behind.

“Primo, you’re back early.”

The teen only shrugs. “I need to take Giorgio’s car back.”

“Regina told me. Come on, let’s go.”

* * *

By the time they leave Rome again, Primo is exhausted.

“What brought you back home so early?”

“I already told Regina that it’s not my place to say,” Primo says as he fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He lets out an annoyed huff as he sees its empty. Putting it back in his pocket, he reaches for the pack Leonardo has resting in the center console and lights up.

“Was somebody hurt?” Primo stays silent. “Was it Ada?” Leonardo knows he’s hit the jackpot when Primo shoots him a wrathful look. “Was she…”

“No! No, she wasn’t. I stopped it before it could happen.”

“Did you kill someone?” Leonardo ventures, slightly alarmed.

“No...but I should have. I wanted to.”

“ _Primo_.”

“What? Are you going to tell me it’s wrong that I wanted to kill the fucker? That I imagined smashing his skull in until there was nothing left?”

Silence falls between them, Leonardo taken aback by what Primo has said. He’s never heard the teen say something like that before.

“No, Primo. I think your feelings are warranted.” If anybody ever laid a hand on Regina, Leonardo thinks...no, he _knows_ , he would kill whoever did it. Primo and Ada might only be friends but Leonardo knows how close they are. And people like the one that attacked Ada, they don’t deserve the life they’ve been blessed with. Leonardo can’t tell Primo his feelings are wrong when they are anything but.

Primo pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and ring finger, cigarette held between his index and middle. “I have a headache.”

_Please don’t yell. I have a headache._

The image of his mother sitting at the kitchen table doing the exact same action as he is flashes in his mind and Primo immediately drops his hand. It’s been three years and he still wonders if he’s the cause of her overdose. He pushes the thought back, he can’t be heaping that guilt onto the mountain of it that he’s already feeling.

He lets out a breathy laugh.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking. You and Regina told me to go and have fun, to be young and enjoy life. But every time I try...every fucking time I finally can, life decides to _fuck me_.”

Leonardo frowns.

“Who knows, maybe if Ada wasn’t my friend, that wouldn’t have happened.”

“Primo, that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it? Seems like anytime someone gets close to me, anytime I care about anybody, something happens.”

“That’s not true.”

“Leo, if I didn’t listen to my father all those years ago, he would have told Salvatore that you were molesting me. You would have been killed and Regina would have become destitute. Nobody in the village would have so much as given her the time”

“How did you know that’s the threat your father made?” Leonardo asks, shocked.

“It wasn’t difficult to figure out when I really thought about it. It was the one thing I could think of that would warrant Salvatore killing you.” Primo exhales a plume of smoke. “ _I_ could have gotten you killed.”

“That wouldn’t have been your fault either. It would have been your father’s.”

“It would have been my fault for going back to you and Regina after he told me not to.” His cigarette goes out and he reaches for the lighter again. Primo flicks it several times but no fire sparks to life. Eventually he grows frustrated and lets it drop to the floor of the car. He puts his head in his hands.

“Get some rest, Primo,” Leonardo says, resting his hand on the teen’s shoulder for a moment before plucking the cigarette out of his mouth.

Primo wants to tell him he’s fine but he’s not. Exhaustion is weighing his body down like a ton of bricks. Wordlessly he settles against the door, pulling his jacket tighter around himself and closing his eyes.

Leonardo lets out a haggard breath when he hears Primo’s breathing even out.

The boy is still asleep when they reach Calabria and rather than waking him up, Leonardo scoops him into his arms. The hold is somewhat awkward given how tall Primo has become but he manages to get him into the house, Regina holding the door open for him.

Together they get him into the guest room. Regina draws the comforter up around his shoulders and Leonardo ruffles his hair.

They leave him to sleep and retreat to their own room.

What Primo said in the car plays over again in Leonardo’s mind as he and Regina lay in bed together. He’s seen the light in Primo’s eyes slowly diminish over the years and something cruel start to take its place. And he realizes, with horrifying clarity, that Primo’s eyes are beginning to look so much like his father’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Italian:  
> Un paio di stronzi = A pair/couple of assholes
> 
> Me, taking a character with like less than a full minute of screen time and no lines and turning her into a full-fledged character? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> I used Orsomarso as the name of their village as that is the village in Calabria that they filmed at in the show.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. beaten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Child abuse (physical and verbal), Homophobic slurs

Rome is months behind them. Ada acts as if nothing happened and so do the rest of them, if only for her sake. But still there are days where Primo wakes in the middle of the night, having dreamt of killing the man who tried to hurt Ada. It should make him sick, realizing how he’d have actually done it if he’d had the chance. Just a year ago he was worried of crossing such a line. What was he becoming?

Perhaps something cruel, something vile. Something that people feared (he still remembers the look on his friends faces when he threatened Giorgio). All things that were ideal for being in a mafia family but he was uncertain how he felt about it on a personal level. Maybe it would be best to embrace it but then there was Leonardo and Regina. Neither are like that. Despite working with his uncle, Leonardo is good. And Regina...well, Regina is better than all of them.

Primo hates thinking about it. He supposes he’ll just have to wait and see what he’ll become in the future. For better or worse.

Not everything that came out of Rome was bad though. After their incredibly short stay and the bit of bonding they had whilst there, Primo and Dario have been spending more time together. There’s been conversations, some awkward hand-holding, even a bit of cuddling in one or the other’s bed when nobody else is around. More kissing too. Primo thinks he’s getting better and Dario has said as much as well.

He likes kissing Dario a great deal.

Part of him is optimistic that maybe they’ll make it. Maybe Dario can take Leonardo’s place in Primo’s head. The realist part of his brain doesn’t think it’ll last. Not when they live in the community they do, not when Dario is far too sweet. The kid doesn’t even swear, doesn’t have the stomach to say or do anything bad—his irresponsible drinking in Rome is the closest he’s ever gotten to being a rebel. But Primo does and can and that awful part of his mind is certain it’ll scare the other boy off eventually. Whatever happens in the end though, Primo is determined to enjoy what he has now.

His uncle is out at the moment. Primo is alone, leaning against the back of the house with a book in his hands. It’s surprisingly mild out today, nice enough to read outside and not be melting in the heat. Normally he and Ada would be hanging out together but she promised to spend time with some of the other girls so he is by himself today.

He’s nearly done with the chapter he’s on when he hears footsteps approaching. Primo whirls around to hide the book from view, eyes darting about for some place he can actually stash it out here. Arms wrap around his middle and a familiar voice whispers in his ear:

“Ciao, bello.”

Primo let’s out a huff of laughter. He drops the book on a stool close by and turns in Dario’s arms. Their lips meet and Primo pushes the other boy against the wall. It’s a bit rough but Dario doesn’t seem to mind, only deepens the kiss. Primo reciprocates and as it turns into something more desperate, he thinks maybe this will lead to more. Maybe lead to them finally fooling around in his bedroom and he can’t say he minds the idea. He’d like it actually.

Both would be the other’s first foray into such territory.

He meets Dario’s eyes to see the pupils blown out and he ponders on if the smaller boy is thinking the same thing he is. Dario’s hand gliding down his back to settle on his ass seems to imply as much. Primo tangles his fingers in the other boy’s hair, tugs his head back and brings him in again, their mouths coming together in a bruising kiss.

Both are so lost in the other that neither hears the gate open nor a car driving up. They don’t hear somebody getting out or calling Primo’s name. They don’t register anything at all besides each other until somebody is swearing loudly only a handful of feet from them.

Primo and Dario break apart at once. Primo can feel his heart in his throat as he spots his uncle standing there. The man looks downright murderous.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_.

The look is enough to kick Dario into action. He darts away—a wise decision—and Primo makes to follow him, to escape the grounds of his uncle’s home which has suddenly become far more unsafe than before. But he doesn’t take more than a step before Salvatore’s hand is closing around his wrist and he’s tugged back towards the man.

“Uncle, I can expla—”

Primo doesn’t get time to finish his sentence. Salvatore slams him harshly against the house, his head smacking against the wall and for a moment black spots dance in his vision. It takes him a second to realize Salvatore is speaking.

“—into my home and this is what you do!”

“Uncle, _please_.”

Salvatore’s hands come up to wrap around his neck. Primo can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he can’t fight his uncle off like he did the man in Rome. If he dares lay a hand on Salvatore, his uncle will kill him. Might kill him now but if there’s a chance he won’t, Primo can’t risk changing his mind.

His uncle’s hold loosens and Primo gasps in air, his lungs burning.

The punch that connects with his jaw seconds later is unexpected. More blows follow suite, Salvatore’s fists rain down on him without mercy. And when it stops, when there is but a moments respite from the beating, Primo thinks it might be over. That thought lasts all of a heartbeat as Salvatore grabs him by the arms and throws him to the ground.

“Uncle, I’m sorry,” he gasps out into the grass and dirt.

“No, you’re not sorry,” Salvatore hisses, “But you will be.” He hears the clink of a belt buckle being undone. “Fucking fag. I should have let your father smother you in the crib.”

Primo tries to get up, tries to get onto his feet and get as far away from his uncle as possible. He only manages to get onto his hands and knees before the belt comes down, cracking against his spine. His mouth opens in a silent scream.

The belt comes down again and again, his uncle uncaring where he hits as long as the blows land. Primo goes numb after some time. He lays there on the ground, feels himself leave his own body as the abuse continues. Soon he feels nothing at all.

And when he returns to his body, it’s to Salvatore grabbing his hair harshly in his fist. His uncle uses it to yank Primo’s head upwards and Primo can hear the sound of a knife being unsheathed.

Salvatore really is going to kill him.

“Your hair makes you look like a fucking girl,” Salvatore spits. “I’m not raising a girl or a fag.” He hauls Primo up further and the boy can feel some strands of hair tear from his scalp. “I’m going to make you into a real man.”

The knife comes down. It saws into Primo’s hair, cutting away a section of the long locks. Salvatore is careless, the blade bites into Primo’s skin and he can feel blood welling up from the shallow wound.

When the hair has been chopped away, momentarily freeing Primo from his uncle’s cruel grasp, he summons up all the energy he has left in his body to scramble to his feet and run. He ignores Salvatore screaming his name, telling him to come back, and heads towards the gate. The men there at least have the decency to open it for him, allowing him to escape.

There was no way they hadn’t heard all the shouting and then the beating that had immediately followed. They must have and yet nobody tried to stop it. They would have let Salvatore kill him all because they weren’t willing to put their own necks on the line. And Primo knows then that nobody cares enough to help him, to protect him like that. Nobody ever has. Not his mother, not these men, even Leonardo doesn’t speak out.

No, that isn’t fair. Leonardo does care. He protects Primo in his own way, he lets him stay in his home. He and Regina take care of him when he has nowhere else to go. They give him shelter and offer him safety. They are different. They are the only ones that matter.

* * *

Regina moves her bag from her hand to the crook of her elbow as she nears home. She’s fishing out her keys when she notices the front door is slightly ajar. It gives her pause. She should turn around, seek out one of the men to check it out for her but all she does is square her shoulders and approach slowly.

Orsomarso might be small and everybody may know each other but it doesn’t stop people from acting stupid. Not to mention there’s always the possibility that an outsider has wandered into the village and broken into her home. It’s happened before. Not to her and Leonardo but to others.

Regina waits, hand pressed against the door, and listens. She hears nothing coming from within. No shuffling of feet, no hushed voices. Absolutely nothing. And hopefully that means the intruders have already come and gone.

Cautiously, she pushes the door open and steps inside.

The first thing she notices are the spots of blood on the floor. They trail into the kitchen. Regina can feel her pulse quicken. She releases a steadying breath and moves further into the house, a million different scenarios racing through her brain.

Somehow none of them prepared her for the sight that does greet her: Primo, sitting at the table, head resting upon the wood. He’s beaten and bloodied up all to hell.

“Primo!” she exclaims, rushing over to him. The boy lets out a soft groan as she places her hands upon his shoulders. He turns his head to look at her and his face is an utter mess, covered in blood and cuts. He’s sporting a nasty split lip and a horrid bruise is already beginning to seal up his left eye. “Can you stand?”

Primo nods slowly. Regina takes him by the elbow and helps him over to the counter where she encourages him to take a seat whilst she fetches a few things from the bathroom. He’s already bled all over her table and floor, might as well try to keep it mostly contained to one room rather than trail him all over the house to leave a red mess in his wake.

When she returns with antiseptic and a small mountain of bandages and cloth rags, she fills up the kitchen sink with lukewarm water and gets to cleaning him up.

Primo is quiet as she works, gaze averted, legs swinging back and forth ever so gently. It reminds Regina of all the other times she’s cleaned him up in the kitchen after a beating. The way he shuts down verbally, how he never wants to look her or Leonardo in the eye, the way he kicks his legs. The only difference this time is that all those other beatings were nowhere near this bad and it makes her blood boil to see him in such a state.

“What happened to you?” she demands. He’s always been honest with her when she’s asked in the past and she can’t imagine he’d abruptly stop.

Primo winces as Regina presses one of the rags that she’s soaked in antiseptic to a particularly awful cut on his face. He doesn’t speak, only continues to look down at his legs.

“Primo Nizzuto, answer me,” Regina says, grabbing his chin a bit too harshly. She didn’t mean to, the action borne from her concern and she feels terribly about it when the boy immediately yanks his face away and out of her hold. “Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace, caro.”

Wordlessly, she watches Primo further collapse in on himself. For a moment she thinks he might cry but Primo has never been the crying type. He internalizes all of his pain and she wishes to hold him, to let him cry for once in his life. She’s seen time and again in her own life what inevitably becomes of men who feel they cannot show their emotions.

“Salvatore called me a fag,” Primo says. It’s blunt and his voice is as devoid of emotion as his eyes.

Regina feels a spike of dread shoot down her spine. Surely Salvatore doesn’t know about Primo. He would never be so open about it, especially not around his uncle. His own parents had died completely unaware of their son’s proclivities. Regina cannot envision that the boy has suddenly grown careless, not when Salvatore is the way he is.

“Why would he say such an awful thing?”

It truly is a disgusting word. One of the most vile things that can be hurled at somebody like Primo outside of threats upon his person. Regina has never liked it, has never liked how people treat gays and lesbians and anybody else of the sort. If everything was safe and consensual, what did it matter who somebody was intimate with? What did it matter who they held a fondness for?

“He…” Primo trails off, hesitates. She’s never seen him do that before and it makes her heart feel heavy as stone. A sense of unease washes over her. The boy is so confident, isn’t afraid to speak his mind, and yet here he sits, words lodged in his throat as if he is afraid to put them out into the world. “He caught me.”

“Caught you?” Regina knows what he’s saying but she wants him to open up, wants him to confide in her about this. If she can save this boy from a path of emotional self-destruction she’d like to.

“Kissing another boy.”

“Who?”

“Dario,” Primo whispers like he might get the other into trouble by speaking his name.

Regina knows who he’s speaking of. She’s spotted Dario plenty of times, particularly within the last few months. Always around Primo and his friend Ada. She had no idea they had taken a liking to each other but she has noticed how happy Primo looks around the other boy. Has noticed how kind Dario is to Primo.

The smaller boy is nice. Too nice to survive the village. And, sadly, too nice to survive Primo who has hardened over the years. Who is heading down the same path of criminality as just about every other man in the village.

“What happened to Dario?”

“He ran. I tried to run too but Salvatore stopped me. Dario got away and Salvatore...first he beat me with his fists and then his belt.”

Regina presses a finger to his lips to silence him, stopping him before he can continue on. She can’t hear anymore. Knowing Salvatore and the circumstances, it didn’t end at the belt.

Primo didn’t deserve the beating. He’s never deserved the beatings he’s gotten. She hates herself for not protecting him. No, she doesn’t see him as a son, but still she and Leonardo should have taken him in permanently. They should have taken him and gotten out of Calabria and far away from the Nizzuto family.

“Is it only boys or do you...look at girls too?” She knows this as well. Never before has she seen Primo show the least bit of interest in the girls his age or even any of the women. Has never caught Primo gazing at her the way he does Leo. But this is another thing she wants to hear from him. He needs to know it’s okay to tell her things, that he’s allowed to open up to her.

“Only boys,” Primo admits after a few silent beats.

Salvatore is an unrepentant prick. Regina knows well what he thinks of gay men. The Don sees them as weak, doesn’t view them as real men. She’s overheard him say that they are women and should be treated as such—he’s a misogynistic asshole too.

Primo has already had a tough life up until now and going forward it will be all that much more difficult. Regina can already foresee Salvatore treating his nephew so much worse than before. When he finally begins to do work for the man, Primo will be stuck with the shitty jobs, the ones that might put his life in serious danger. Better a dead nephew than a faggot nephew, after all.

God, the ways he’ll find to utterly humiliate Primo. Regina has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from swearing.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” she says resolutely. Primo fixes her with a look that is a mix of surprise and doubt. “I mean it. You cannot help who you love. No matter what anybody else says or how you are treated, never feel shame for this. God does not make mistakes, Primo Nizzuto. You are the way you are because He wants you that way.”

Primo says nothing. He doesn’t really believe in God at this point, only ever goes to church when Regina and Leonardo take him, but it’s difficult to argue with somebody like the woman before him. And really, there’s no use in even attempting it when she’s like this.

Regina has the biggest balls in Calabria and can put up quite the verbal fight. Primo can only accept what she tells him with a nod.

He might not believe in a higher power but it’s nonetheless comforting to hear those words.

Regina returns to cleaning his wounds and she pauses once more when she has him turn so she can get to his neck. A portion of his hair has been crudely hacked off. How had she not noticed that when she had been helping him over to the counter? Well, she _had_ been incredibly alarmed to find the teen bleeding all over her kitchen as well as far too focused on getting his wounds taken care of first and foremost. The state of his hair nowhere in the realm of things on her mind.

“Did Salvatore do this too?”

“Yes,” Primo answers. “He said my hair makes me look like a girl. Said he was going to make me into a real man.”

“ _Bastardo_.”

Primo _was_ a real man, more a man than that little weasel. Regina has to push all the ugly little emotions that are fighting their way into her heart and mind down. Right now, Primo is all that matters. And there is nothing she can do against Salvatore. He owns the village. Owns everyone in it. And, admittedly, she fears him. No matter how she’d like to hurt him, she knows she’ll never be able to. Salvatore is a terrifying presence in all their lives.

Leonardo walks in as she’s finishing wiping up the blood from the back of Primo’s neck. A greeting is half-way out of his mouth when he enters the kitchen. The various items in his hands crash to the floor upon seeing the state Primo is in.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?”

Regina shakes her head at her husband, quieting him. She glances at Primo out of the corner of her eye, watches as he makes a valiant effort to appear smaller, as if wanting to disappear. She knows the reason. It’s all down to his crush on Leonardo. To his sixteen year old brain, this is embarrassing. The last thing the boy wants is to look weak and helpless in front of a man whom he’s held affections for for years.

Regina takes mercy on the boy and offers him an escape. “Primo, do you think you could stand a shower?”

“Yes.”

“Perfetto. Go along then. I will cut your hair in the morning so we can fix it, yes?”

“Okay.” The boy slides off the counter, wincing once more. His eyes stay locked onto the floor as he retreats into the back. He does not spare even a momentary glance at Leonardo.

“What the fuck happened to him?” Leonardo asks in a harsh whisper.

“Salvatore,” Regina responds, venom dripping off her tongue.

“Why?” It’s not that Leonardo is looking for an excuse, none would be good enough to justify what he just saw, but something went down and he needs to know. What had Primo done or said for Salvatore to feel such a beating as that was appropriate?

“He caught Primo kissing a boy.”

“Oh.” Leonardo falls silent. He never suspected Primo liked boys. Maybe he should have. Maybe something should have tipped him off, particularly when Leonardo appreciates the male form as well. Only he likes women just as much and that fact has made it so much easier to hide that part of his sexuality.

“Are you disgusted?”

“You know I’m not against that sort of thing, Regina.”

He’s right, she _does_ know. Leonardo had not been subtle when he was younger. But still, she felt the need to ask what she had, to make certain that Leo hadn’t grown to harbor some sort of self-hatred of that side of himself since marrying her. “I’m only making sure.”

“He should stay out of Salvatore’s way for a few days...or weeks,” Leonardo sighs.

“I agree. His things are still in the guest room, I only need to change the sheets.”

They separate then, Regina going off to the room, Leonardo turning to clean up the mess on the floor.

They don’t baby the boy once he emerges from the shower, but that night Regina _does_ spoil Primo a little by making him his favorite pasta dish—linguine alle vongole. And after dinner, Leonardo distracts him with dominoes.

It’s the first time Primo manages to beat him at the game.

In the morning, Regina waits in the kitchen with a pair of scissors. The trashcan is pulled in front of a chair. Primo sits without being told to do so and she gets working on his hair. She’s careful about it, taking great pains to make certain the metal doesn’t touch the boy’s skin.

Last night, she had thought on a few ways she might style his hair and in the end she had settled on something short and attractive. Luckily, Primo has plenty of thick, dark hair to work with.

When she’s done, he at once seeks out Leonardo’s approval.

“It looks good,” Leonardo compliments, patting the boy on the shoulder. Primo smiles.

And Regina, she stands off to the side, lost in her own head. She can’t tear her eyes from the multitude of cuts on Primo’s face and arms. She can’t ignore all the bruises that are clear as day upon his skin. She prays that he’s able to escape one day, that he’ll be able to find a man in the near future who will love him and keep him safe. Keep him out of trouble. Keep him away from Calabria.

She doesn’t want Primo to continue being under Salvatore’s thumb.

* * *

Primo stays in their home for a week before he thinks to head back to his uncle’s house. The last thing he wants is to continue living in that place but he knows that if he doesn’t return, Salvatore will become even angrier with him.

So he leaves Leonardo and Regina’s in the early morning and the men at the gate don’t look at him, like they’re ashamed of themselves for not helping and frankly, they should be. Primo is more than tempted to spit abuse at them but it’s not worth it. Nothing will change from such an action. So instead he ignores them too and heads up the drive only to pause near the top when he sees his things strewn across the lawn.

Everything he owns lays in a great big pile on the grass and next to it is a small heap of burned papers. Primo’s stomach drops. He approaches and yes, his suspicions are correct. The papers are the remnants of all of his books. Only a handful have not been completely reduced to ash.

His eyes roam over it all until they settle on something solid buried within the ashes. Primo reaches over, pushes the ash off. Salvatore must not have realized he hadn’t gotten this one completely into the fire. The bottom is singed and the cover is dirty but miraculously, the first book he ever received from the couple is mostly intact.

 _Il ritratto di Dorian Gray_. He won’t be able to read this copy ever again but he doesn’t care. He’s just glad that it had, for the most part, survived his uncle’s wrath.

Primo holds it to his chest, his heart aching a little less than it had been only seconds ago.

When he hears the door opening, he shoves the book under his clothes, wanting more than anything to protect it. Salvatore is standing in the doorway and at least he doesn’t look like he wants to beat the life out of Primo anymore.

“Clean this up,” he orders. “And then I need you in the woods. One of the goats escaped ten minutes ago.”

Primo says nothing, only nods. He doesn’t move until his uncle has vanished back inside. He’ll have to find a better hiding spot for the one book he now possesses.

As damaged as it is, he can’t bear to part with it.

* * *

He’s seventeen, a few months shy of eighteen, when Regina announces she’s pregnant.

She and Leonardo are ecstatic. They’ve been trying to have a child since they married and for the last handful of years they had given up hope that they might ever have one. Two missed cycles and a doctor’s visit later and she had come into the home that afternoon to make the announcement.

Primo watches as she and Leonardo kiss and hug and laugh and dance around the kitchen. They’ll be good parents. The best, really.

And at least for their child, they will never feel unwanted. Not a day will go by that they will not feel wanted.

They are not a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should have been done days ago but ADHD BABY!
> 
> Also, Regina is a goddess and I would die for her.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. white walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for vomiting and some references to homophobia in this chapter.
> 
> Also there's a masturbation scene.

Two things happen when Primo is eighteen. The first occurs at a large gathering involving much of the youth of Orsomarso.

There’s at least fifty of them in total, all ranging from ages sixteen to nineteen, and the lot of them are drinking and smoking and chatting away in a sizable open space down one of the various alleys on the fringes of the village. Nobody lives in the houses close by which gives them free reign to be loud and blast music from somebody’s shitty little radio that has a habit of skipping every ten seconds or so.

Primo and Ada have taken up a spot against the wall halfway down from where the alley opens up into the area. They’re leaning against each other, her head on his shoulder and his head resting atop her own, cheek pressed into her thick brown hair. They’re passing a cigarette back and forth, a beer clutched in one of Primo’s hands—piss warm and barely touched.

Every few minutes, when somebody truly eyes them up, they shift, turning their faces towards each other, and kiss. Perhaps it’s overdoing it, the frequency in which they’re pressing their lips against each other’s, but Primo wants the displays of affection to reach his uncle. He knows how rumor spreads in the village; by tomorrow afternoon the man will have heard about Primo being all over Ada.

The girl has been acting as his beard for awhile now, yet for all they’ve made certain to act affectionate around the older man, he can’t tell if Salvatore is entirely convinced that he beat the queer out of Primo two years ago.

Ada had been furious when she learned of the event, her wrath nearly on par with Regina’s own though not as refined. It was difficult to gauge exactly how angry Leonardo was. Typically he did not hide his feelings, he was the type who wore his heart on his sleeve, but when it came to any ill feelings towards Salvatore he was a master in concealing it all behind a carefully crafted mask of calm even within the safety of his own home.

Primo had contacted Ada the day he returned to Leonardo and Regina’s home—he’d stayed two days at his uncle’s before he couldn’t take it anymore and needed to escape. Most of the damage had repaired a decent ways by then but his skin still bore the brunt of what Salvatore had done and Ada had cried and held him, her tears hot against his shoulder and neck. She’d cried until her eyes refused to produce anymore tears and then she set in to swearing, to cursing Salvatore and his very existence. Her language was so colorful that it even managed to surprise Primo.

She remained in the couple’s home with him for a little over a week, leaving only when her mother demanded she return home.

In that time though, they’d shared the guest room. They would cuddle close at night, his face often buried in her abdomen whilst she carded her fingers through his hair. Five days in when Leonardo and Regina were out for the night, they had stripped off all their clothing and climbed into bed. There was nothing sexual within the interaction, each simply wanted to be as close to the other as possible, both seeking out a deeper form of comfort.

They had pressed their bodies flush against one another. He could feel all of her and she all of him. They embraced and spoke in whispered tones long into the night until sleep dragged them under, their limbs tangled up together.

That was the first of many times they would embrace in such a way and the last time they had, some five months ago, Ada had proposed masquerading as Primo’s girlfriend in order to trick his uncle, make the man ease up on him if only a little. His tired agreement is what brought them here today.

Kissing Ada isn’t so bad. She’s damn good at it, has even taught him how to become a better kisser. Her lips are soft and she always tastes like strawberries with the most subtle hint of the sharp tang of cigarettes.

He hates to admit it but there are times he attempts to convince his brain that he likes kissing girls. That he likes girls in the very same way that he feels about boys.

Primo tries to summon up even a thread of arousal whenever he and Ada’s lips meet but nothing sparks to life. He can’t imagine himself kissing her with the passion that a lover might, he can’t imagine sinking into her body and fucking her slow and deep, making her cry out his name. And he knows it has absolutely nothing to do with her being his best friend and everything to do with her being a woman. Even with the fear of another beating he can’t bring himself to be attracted in that way.

Ada is beautiful, long-limbed and confident in a way that makes one gravitate towards her. Her breasts are small but perky and she possesses thighs that men would love to sink their faces between. But not him.

The only thing that gets Primo’s blood going, gets him hot and bothered, is imagining Leonardo on top of him, buried inside of him—or it’s him on top of Leonardo, slowly sinking down onto the older man.

And maybe it’s stupid to hold onto those thoughts as he does; Leo is married and Primo loves the couple in different ways. But as he told himself back in Rome, he’s a terribly selfish individual and he can’t say with any certainty that he’ll never pursue Leonardo, never attempt to coax him into an affair, to have him keep their dirty little secret from Regina.

He’s an awful person.

A shout rouses Primo from his thoughts. His eyes dart upwards, gaze locking onto Giorgio as he cuts through the throng of bodies. He’s holding up a clear bag and there’s a familiar white substance in it that makes Primo’s stomach churn.

An image of his mother, body laying prone on the kitchen floor while he begs her not to leave him, flashes through his mind. He banishes the memory away and takes the cigarette from Ada’s hand, inhaling deeply, attempting to get as much smoke into his lungs as possible.

“Look what I managed to score!” the other boy announces.

“And how did you pay for it?” another asks.

“My devilishly good looks.”

“Good looking is hardly what I’d call you,” one of the girls says.

Giorgio gives her a withering look whilst the crowd laughs. “See if I let you have any now.”

“Not interested,” she counters.

“Good, more for everybody else,” Giorgio huffs as he takes a seat. He tears the bag open and pours the contents onto the battered table before him.

More than half of the teens in the group express having no desire to snort the coke that Giorgio has so generously procured for them. Others seem indifferent and that leaves only a handful who are actually interested in getting high.

“Oi, Primo! Want some?” Giorgio calls.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Ada hisses.

“What?”

“Primo’s ma,” Batista stage whispers from beside Giorgio.

“Oh...right,” Giorgio mumbles and he at least has the decency to look guilty. “Never mind.”

Beside Primo, Ada mutters something under her breath that he only half listens to. He’s pretty sure it’s about Giorgio being a moron and silently he agrees. The kid has never been the sharpest tool in the shed and Primo still hasn’t forgiven him for his stupid ass comment back in Rome.

“Come on, let’s go,” Ada says, tugging at his hand.

They make it a whole five feet before Primo’s gaze lands on a guest he hadn’t noticed before. Perched upon a beaten up settee, smoking and chatting and laughing with a small cluster of other individuals, is _Dario_. Primo’s jaw sets, a vein in his cheek twitches.

He and the other boy haven’t spoken since that day when Salvatore nearly killed him. In fact, Dario has done everything in his power to avoid any sort of contact with Primo. Pretends like he doesn’t even exist. He’d caught sight of the smaller boy in the village a few times, tried to approach to talk, and Dario would flee or his words would fall on deaf ears.

The fact their relationship could so easily fall apart like that, how simple it was for Dario to act like nothing happened stung even now.

Primo’s grip on Ada’s hand tightens considerably as he attempts to ground himself, to talk himself out of walking up to Dario and decking him in the face. Not just once either.

There’s something formless that lays within his chest, a great, black, pulsating nothingness that harbors such a violence inside itself and he’s not certain when it took up residence there. Maybe it’s always been a part of him. At first no bigger than a speck of dust and as he’s aged, it has slowly blossomed into something more. And perhaps it will continue to grow, to further spread hatred throughout his body, to further spread apathy and loathing. And not entirely of other people.

Primo would never claim to love himself. Oh, he has an incredible sense of self-preservation but that is entirely divorced from how he feels of himself.

Dario looks up at him and his eyes widen. He nearly chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled and darkly Primo wishes it would strangle the very air from his lungs. He’s not the one who did anything wrong and it wasn’t Dario who got beaten that day, so what in the actual fuck was his problem?

The boy averts his eyes and continues on with his conversation, once more ignoring Primo entirely. It makes his blood _boil_.

He drops Ada’s hand and she looks back at him, eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“Go home,” he tells her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He can see in her eyes that she doesn’t want to leave him here but he’s not a child, he doesn’t need her to look after him. She knows this and though the worry doesn’t leave her face, though it’s so clear to him that she wishes to argue, to drag him from this place and as far away from Giorgio’s cocaine as she can, Ada only nods and walks away.

Primo knows that what he’s about to do is incredibly stupid but he doesn’t want to think right now. If he goes home this keyed up, he’s going to snap at either Leonardo or Regina and...when did he start thinking of their house as his too? It’s not. It’s just a place he goes to sleep to get away from his own fucked up home, the one where cruelty sits at the kitchen table, waiting to unleash itself upon him.

He takes a steadying breath and allows the crowd to swallow him up. He pushes through the crush of bodies until he reaches the couch that Giorgio has taken up residence on. Primo falls into a space between the other boy and Batista.

“Hey,” Giorgio greets, wary of Primo being in such close proximity to him. In the last few years, Primo has gotten a reputation amongst the youths of the village. To them, he’s a live wire. His presence is enough to unsettle some of them and the others are wary after hearing the story of how he beat a man with a tire iron (though nobody but the group knows the exact reason as to why), of how he lashed out at Giorgio, to them, out of nowhere.

Primo doesn’t care what they think of him, in fact, maybe it’s better if they fear him.

“Offer still open?”

“Uh...yeah. You sure?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be fucking asking.”

Giorgio grins at him though it hardly reaches his eyes, passes him a folded up piece of paper that he was using to cut his own lines of the powder with. He leaves Primo to it, trusting him to know how to properly cut, trusting him to know how much his body can handle.

Truthfully, Primo has no idea what he’s doing. His mother might have been an addict but he never paid mind to how she measured or cut. He glances as how Batista has set up his own lines and fiddles around with the coke until he has something resembling that.

Giorgio hands him a rolled up lira and this Primo knows what to do with. He spotted his dear deceased mother snort up enough of the shit before. So he leans down and does exactly as he’d seen her do far too many times while growing up.

The coke burns something awful in his nose. He sniffs a few times in an attempt to chase it away. He does another line when it fades and he waits for the high to hit him.

He doesn’t have to wait long and when it does, he feels intensely euphoric. His body shivers in pleasure as he leans back into the couch, letting a pleasant warmth spread through his body.

This isn’t terrible at all.

* * *

Vomit splatters the off-white stones two alleys over from where the gathering is being held. Primo is bracing himself against the wall, the edges of the brick digging harshly into his forearms which are trembling.

 _All of him is trembling_.

He shivers as phantom spider limbs skitter down his spine. He slides down the wall, nearly curls up into a ball. His body feels too hot and _fuck_ he can feel his heart slamming against his rib cage, like it’s trying to burst forth from his chest.

Primo’s head aches and his chest is tight. It’s hard to breathe. He fucked up, he _really_ fucked up. He took too much. This is just like with his mother. But unlike her, he’s not about to die from this. He _can’t_ die from this.

He stands on trembling legs and makes his way out of the alley. Primo needs only to reach Leonardo and Regina’s home. They’ll take care of him. They always do.

As he makes his way through Orsomarso, he has to stop frequently, his body forcing up anything and everything it can. How he has anything left in his stomach is a mystery to him.

The fortunate thing is that he doesn’t have to travel as far as he used to to reach the couple’s home. After Regina found herself expecting, she and Leonardo had decided to get a bigger place. They didn’t have to, their old house just outside the village had been a two bedroom; they could have converted the guestroom into a nursery but they hadn’t wanted to relegate Primo to the sofa. They wanted him to continue to have his own room within their home and so they had moved into a place by the village square—a three bedroom that wasn’t actually much larger than their old one outside of it possessing that extra space for him.

He doesn’t deserve their kindness.

Primo suspects that the last thing Regina expects to see upon opening her door at nearly ten at night is him standing there, shivering and vomiting off the front steps.

“Santa Maria, cosa c'è che non va!?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, simply ushers him inside and once they’ve reached the kitchen, she retrieves the wastebasket for him just in time for him to vomit up mostly bile and water.

“Oi, Regina, what is it?” Leonardo’s voice comes from the back and seconds later he’s walking into the living room, rubbing at his eyes. However, what sleep still clung to him is gone the instant he takes in the state of the teen in his kitchen.

Primo vomits again, lets out a miserable sound. He feels like death warmed over and maybe it’d be better to lay down on the cool tiled floor, to help chase some of the fire from his body.

“What did you take!?” Leonardo’s voice booms. He’s there in front of Primo now, that expression he gets when he’s angry but in that concerned sort of way of his is painted over every inch of his face.

Primo doesn’t remember telling Leonardo about the cocaine between all the vomiting and retching, between all the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his heart with its staccato beat but clearly he somehow managed it because what he does end up hearing over the din in his head is the couple shout ‘cazzo!’ and the next thing he knows he’s in the back of Leonardo and Regina’s car.

Leonardo forgets all about traffic laws and speeds out of the village, racing towards the nearest hospital. Primo lays across their backseat, his heart continuing to pound, hair sticking to his forehead. Regina reaches back periodically to push his hair from his face, press a cool hand to his burning skin.

She shouldn’t be here with them, she should be back in her and Leo’s bed, resting. This can’t be good for the baby yet here she is in the car with the two of them, fingers working through his hair, other hand resting on her belly.

One of the elderly women in the village told Regina she’s to have a boy given how her features have changed. Primo’s not sure how much weight that holds to actually being true but Regina and Leonardo seem to believe it.

They’ve been discussing names since, things like Mario, Paolo, Aldo, and Enzo. Neither can decide on what they want. Nothing sticks. They’ve even got Primo thinking at times and it’s not even his kid. He doesn’t want children of his own. As far as he’s concerned, the Nizzuto line will die with him and Stefano and that’s just fine in his eyes.

Though it’s silent in the car, he can feel how furious Leonardo is. He’s angry at himself too. He acted so foolishly and he is no fool. Primo knows he should never have done what he did, and certainly not over some stupid boy, and yet his emotions had gotten the better of him. That was one of his flaws, he knew. Sometimes his anger blinded him and he acted irrationally. It seems to be a Nizzuto habit...at least for the men. He’s heard of no such issues with his aunt.

Everything is a blur, Primo barely registers when they arrive at the hospital or Leonardo and Regina half-dragging him inside. No, he doesn’t fully become aware again until he’s in a bed and there’s a needle in his arm, allowing a clear liquid to enter his veins.

Primo hears Leonardo speak to the doctor in hushed tones just outside the room. He can’t make out what they’re saying and before he can think to incline his head to try and capture their words, Regina is drawing his attention to her.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“Good,” Regina says bluntly. “Remember this feeling and maybe it will stop you before you put that substance into your body again.”

Primo only sighs and rolls his eyes which earns him a severe look from Regina. If she were just about anybody else, Primo might think that such an action would have earned him a good hard smack. But Regina has never raised a hand to him. Most she’s ever done is lecture him, same as Leonardo. When they raise a hand around him, he doesn’t have to fight the instinct to flinch away because he knows they would never lay an unkind hand on him.

He feels so pathetic anytime Salvatore moves too quickly or lifts his hand. Like he’s a cowering child whose about to be swallowed whole by the boogeyman. Primo’s mind always screaming at him to put distance between himself and his uncle.

“Why did you take it? After your mother…” Regina trails off. Neither wishes to speak of Rosetta Nizzuto. After her overdose, Primo had silently swore to himself he’d never touch the very thing that ended her life and yet here he was, nearly having followed her into the grave because of it. He hasn’t stopped mentally kicking himself since the alley.

“I was upset with a boy.” Regina laughs gently and Primo scowls at her. “What’s so funny?”

“Boys drive us all crazy sometimes, hmm?”

Primo scoffs. “You have it easy, you married Leo.”

“Oh, the things I could tell you of how crazy Leonardo has driven me through the years.”

“I’d like to hear those stories.”

“Hear what stories?” Leonardo asks as he re-enters the room.

“How much of a pain in the ass you can be for Regina.”

The older man looks at his wife with an unamused expression which only makes the other two laugh. “I do not cause you problems.”

“I beg to differ. Should I tell him what you did on our honeymoon?”

“No!” Leonardo protests.

“Well, now I _have_ to know.”

“No, you do not.”

Regina tells him anyway, much to Leonardo’s horror and Primo’s absolute delight.

* * *

Primo is discharged two hours later, the doctor letting them all go with instructions to Leonardo and Regina to look after him for the next twenty-four hours. All Primo hears is an excuse to stay at their place for the night—not that he actually needs one.

In the car ride back to their home, Leonardo explains that he managed to convince the doctor not to contact the authorities by telling them that it was simply a moment of youthful stupidity and that it would never happen again. Primo is grateful for it as Salvatore would have been furious if he got arrested. If he hadn’t killed Primo after catching him kissing Dario, he surely would if Primo ever got himself locked up. Nizzuto’s kept themselves out of the system.

“You’re sleeping with us,” Regina informs him once they step into the couple’s house.

“I’m fine in the guestroom.”

“We need to keep an eye on you and I’m far too tired to get up constantly to make sure you’re still breathing so come,” she demands, indicating with her hand towards the bedroom.

“Regina—”

“Primo,” Leonardo speaks up, “Don’t argue.”

That shuts him up and he hits the guestroom only to change his clothes before he’s slipping into their room and settling between them—Regina to his back and his front pressed up against Leonardo.

Primo finds it easy to fall asleep in their presence, like he belongs in their bed. And he does...or so he thinks anyway. His feelings for Leonardo still burn hot, and maybe it is all just wishful thinking that makes him believe he actually has a chance with a married man, that one day his place will be here, between Leonardo and Regina and it will be like this everyday. And once he’s Don, who will dare to stop them? To stop him?

When he wakes in the morning, it’s to his face buried in Leonardo’s chest and his hips undulating in aborted little movements against Leonardo’s leg, a hard-on evident in his trousers. He stills his body, listens to their shallow breathing to make certain they are still sleeping.

With all the dexterity of a cat, he slips out of their bed and exits their room. He doesn’t stop there, he continues on out of their house and makes his way out of the village and towards his uncle’s home. It’s early enough that the man will not yet be awake and he climbs the fence in the back of the property to avoid the men guarding the front.

Primo has been in the house long enough to know every squeaky step and floorboard and he avoids them all on his way to his room where he tosses himself onto his bed. His erection still hasn’t gone down and he lets out a huff of air.

He’d dreamt of Leonardo last night, of the man fucking into him, taking him apart slowly, and Primo can’t help but wonder if that’s what it _would_ be like. In his dreams it all feels so good but he has no idea how it’d feel or play out in real life. Part of him wishes he and Dario hadn’t pussy-footed around so much so that he’d have some clue as to what sex was like. But he won’t think of Dario now, won’t let thoughts of the boy ruin the fantasy still playing about in his mind.

His hands drift down to his trousers, one of them popping the button and dragging the zipper down slowly along the teeth.

It’s not exactly ideal but it’s better than nothing so he licks his palm and reaches into his undergarments to take himself in hand.

He works himself slowly at first. Even if he’s already hard he doesn’t want to rush it. Primo sits up, rests his back against the headboard as he strokes himself, pre-cum beading at the head of his cock. He swipes at it with his thumb, uses it to make the motions easier.

It feels nice for the most part but the material his dream gave him to work with somehow isn’t enough and as he continues to pleasure himself, his mind conjures up another little fantasy and he’s able to imagine that it’s not his hand working to bring him off but Leo’s, the man stroking him with practiced ease. He can practically feel Leonardo pressing against his back rather than the hard headboard, his body settled between the other’s legs. Can feel Leonardo holding him close to his chest.

“Leo,” he moans out softly.

There’s a hush, a phantom press of lips to his neck. This is what he needs, this is what his _body_ needs. And he pants and moans as he strokes himself faster, tries to stifle the noises his throat is producing behind his hand so as not to wake his uncle.

“You’re such a good boy, Primo,” he can hear Leonardo say into his ear, gentle like a lover. And something about that simply gets to him. Primo gasps as he tips over the edge, moan coming out half-strangled as he spills into his hand.

He pants as his head tips back, thunking against the wall behind him. “ _Fuck_.”

And when Primo turns up at their home later for dinner and to show them he’s still alive and hasn’t keeled over, the couple asks why he left. He gives them some half-assed excuse about wanting to take a shower. It wouldn’t really be appropriate to come out with the fact he’d had a wet dream about Leonardo and went home to masturbate to the thought of the man touching him.

He’s not so bold...not yet anyway.

* * *

The second thing that happens when he is eighteen comes in the form of Regina going into labor in the middle of the day four months after Primo’s near overdose.

Leonardo is sent into a panic as he rushes about the house, collecting the things they’ll need for the hospital. He’s always been easy to fluster, that heart ever present on his sleeve. Primo has always thought him better suited as a professor rather than a mafioso because of it. Something softer and more intellectual rather than the violent illegality near every man lives in the village.

Regina is calm as she heads out to wait in the car, leaving both men to shove everything into a bag. Primo throws it and himself into the backseat while Leo takes his place behind the wheel, tearing out of the village square like the police are on their tail.

When they arrive at the hospital, Regina is wheeled off to a delivery room, leaving Leonardo and Primo to sit and wait. Primo learns that day that labor can take far too long. He and Leonardo sit and talk and smoke and pace as they wait.

He’s not anxious like Leonardo, more impatient even if the kid isn’t his own. There’s a hint of boredom as well. He hates to be so stagnant, the pacing does little to settle the wild energy inside him. He wants to be doing something but there’s nothing to be done. They simply have to wait.

Leonardo is slumped in a chair, falling asleep. It’s six hours into Regina’s labor and it seems as though it will never end. Primo kicks his foot out, the tip of his shoe knocking into the bottom of Leo’s own, jolting the man awake.

“Hmm?” Leonardo hums, rolling his shoulders and straightening up, attempting to act as if he hadn’t just been dozing off.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” Primo says as he fishes out another cigarette. He’s nearly smoked the whole damn pack at this point.

He’s barely lit it when a doctor finds them to tell them that Regina and the baby—a boy, just as the old woman in the village said it would be—are fine and healthy and that they’re allowed in to see mother and child now.

Primo puts his cigarette out and casually follows Leonardo into the room. He and Regina kiss and Leo tells her how proud he is of her. Regina looks tired but as beautiful as ever even if her hair is a mess and her skin is still slick with sweat from the labor.

Primo watches from the window awhile as Leonardo and Regina coo over their baby who is a bit on the small side. He has a full head of dark hair and a pinched little face that Primo isn’t entirely certain can be called cute but the couple thinks is just adorable. But what does he know, he’s never spent much time around babies to know what constitutes as cute for newborns.

He turns away to gaze out at the parking lot, taking in all the coming and going people and cars as Leonardo and Regina launch into discussing names. They can’t agree on one or the other and before he knows what he’s doing, Primo is speaking up.

“Francesco,” he says.

“What was that?” Leonardo questions.

Primo glances over his shoulder at the couple. “Francesco...for a name. It means ‘free man.’”

“Francesco,” Regina repeats, looking down at her son. “I think it’s perfect.”

Leonardo nods, smiles at Primo in a way that makes Primo’s heart feel as though a fist has curled itself around the organ and is squeezing. The teen gives him a smile in return before focusing his attention back out the window, the sounds of the happy family behind him causing an ocean of calm to settle over him like a warm blanket.

He is not their family but he’s glad they allow him into their life anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild praise kink has entered the arena!
> 
> Translation of the Italian:  
> Santa Maria, cosa c'è che non va = Saint Mary, what's wrong?
> 
> This took so long I'm so sorry, ADHD and depression are a real bitch.
> 
> Have a great day!


End file.
